


Not One For Love

by Kendarrr



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, F/F, Faberry, G!P, Girl!Peen, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 14:30:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendarrr/pseuds/Kendarrr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel, the rising star of New York, was beginning to feel the stress of fame and her work. Add to that the lack of company, and orgasms, she was definitely in need of help. Thanks to Brittany, she meets g!p Quinn, the prostitute. But is that all she will ever be to Rachel?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. pay for fuck?

With a cup of her favourite soy latte in hand, Rachel Berry strolled down the street, surrounded by half-busy citizens of the bustling city of New York. Behind her aviators, Rachel watched their unsuspecting faces and smiled to herself. They had no idea that they were in the presence of the Tony and Grammy award-winning renowned actress. She picked up her pace, not wanting to be late for her first table-read for her third leading role, and her third movie production. Rachel's pace became a skip. When she finally found the towering structure of the office her manager texted her weeks before, her exhaustion dawned before her. But only because on that fine autumn morning, a paparazzi shot towards her and blinded her with the flash of his camera.

"Hey!" Rachel flinched and held up her arm to shield her features to the glaring lens of the man's camera. Her cry, however, attracted more of the pap lurkers. Cameras flashed and clicked as every photo they took was of Rachel screaming her head off. She was unable to see the way to the office, making her zigzag across the pathway. Rachel bumped into one of the obnoxious scumbags, and  _he_ had the gall to swear at her?

"If you don't get out of my way, I am going to break that horrible camera along with both of your knees!" Rachel shrieked, her elbows digging into the man's side. She ignored his grunt of protest and cry of 'bitch!', for she had no time to care. She was two minutes late, and Rachel Berry was  _never_  late. She stepped over the collapsed paparazzo and hurried inside the building, where the security guards  _finally_  came outside to chase away the affronted gossip and photography mongers.

Rachel huffed and leaned back against the wood panelled wall of the elevator as it lulled her up the seventy floors. Her coffee no longer tasted sweet with the perfect amount of soy milk and sugar. It tasted bitter. Her whole mouth tasted bitter, and as much as she wanted to simply go home and take a nap, she had a responsibility, and she will fulfill it.

The elevator bell rung and she walked down the plush carpeted corridor until she reached the conference room. Through the glass walls, Rachel could see that Brittany, her manager, was there along with the rest of the cast, the directors, producers, writers, and other executives. Rachel took a deep breath and stepped inside, all eyes trained at her. "I'm sorry I'm late."

Brittany perked up and waved her over. Reliable as always, she had another copy of the script that Rachel annotated in case she forgot her own—which she rarely did, but it was pleasant to know that she had an ally against the bigwigs who leered at her through their Bulgari eyewear. She collapsed on the hard plastic chair and sipped her acrimonious coffee. Clearing her throat, Rachel splayed her hands on top of the dark table and met the eyes of the bigwig—the executive producer. "After all, it's not my fault of the incompetence of your security guards. I was assailed by  _paparazzi_  right outside your  _door_."

"Rachel, don't." Brittany murmured, her hand on the actress' thigh.

Shaking her manager off, Rachel tipped her chin and opened the first page of the booklet. She read through it ten times already, so she was confident in her competence. She was not sure about the rest of the cast.

The executive producer, a lady in a business suit that probably cost as much as Rachel's brownstone, cleared her throat and swept her gaze across the room, only for her rich, mahogany eyes to land and linger on Rachel. "Enough. Let us begin."

After hours upon hours of the table-read for the first and second act of the movie, the executive producer, by the name of Ann Veronica, decided to end the day's session. To Rachel's relief, she went straight out of the conference room, leaving the cast and some of the crew to mill about. Brittany rubbed Rachel's back and smiled in an attempt to encourage her. "You were fantastic, as always."

"I know," Rachel sighed and tried not to burrow into Brittany so she wouldn't have to face her co-star who, right now, was making eyes at her. She diverted her gaze and faced her manager. "But I don't think I can take much more of this. I'm exhausted all the time, and I'm  _lonely_." She eyed Brittany who nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. "It's just… Finn's always travelling with his band while they try and play everywhere they could to get their music out there. I didn't even want to go to today's table-read since he's coming home today and I wanted to meet him, but..." Rachel shook her head. "It's no use complaining now."

"Oh, honey." Brittany rose up and tugged Rachel up with her. They left the conference room just as one of Rachel's co-stars was about to open up a conversation with her. They left him standing, jaw dropped as they rode the elevator down to the ground floor. "I can't do much about Finn's absence—wait, you two are still together?"

Rachel nodded. "But not in the way that you think. We're not together romantically. I think he's only with me because I have a house and he doesn't want to go back to Lima." She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms together. "It's mostly a relationship of comforts now, I think. But I'm not mad or trying to get rid of him. It's nice to have him around. He's…"

"Familiar." Brittany supplied. They stepped out of the lift and went out into the brisk fall afternoon, the sun already taking cover behind a thicket of clouds. Rachel shivered and tightened her scarf around her neck. "Come, let's go get coffee and then I'll let you go home to your boyfriend." Brittany teased, bumping Rachel's hip with hers.

They slunk into a small coffee shop. Rachel sat herself on a corner booth, hidden behind a fake potted plant as Brittany ordered for the both of them. She returned with two steaming mugs of warm chocolate, a plate of grilled cheese, and a slice of apple pie. Brittany pushed the pie to Rachel and took a bite from her sandwich. "So, while I was waiting in line, I got a text from my girlfriend."

"Santana? What did she say?"

"She was telling me what she wants to do to me when I get home, but I don't think you want to hear about that. She gave me an idea though." Brittany lowered her voice and leaned forward, coaxing Rachel to do the same. "You said you were stressed and frustrated, right? I think I have a cure for that, but I'm not sure if you'll be into it."

"Britt, at this point, I'm game for anything." Rachel breathed. Her manager was definitely the best one for her, even though she was Brittany's first client, and she had no past experience whatsoever. But for Rachel, that was the point. She wanted them both to learn as they went through show business together, and now, Brittany was proving to be a genius.

"And you said you and Finn don't fuck anymore."

"Brittany!"

The blonde giggled and lowered her voice once more. "Did you two even do it ever?" She asked, but then did not wait for Rachel's response. "I have a friend—actually, she's one of my best friends from high school. She has this…  _service_  that helps women who want to keep everything private and on the down low."

Rachel blinked. "What, like I need privacy for yoga sessions?"

"Yoga? No, that's lame. I hate yoga." Brittany scrunched up her nose. "And that totally has nothing to do with what I'm thinking. I'm saying, Rachel, when was the last time you got laid?" The question gave Rachel pause, and Brittany took it as a sign. "See? You have to think about it! I don't, because I just got laid this morning. That's not the point though." She nibbled on the corner of her sandwich and sipped her hot chocolate.

"Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to beg?"

Giggling, Rachel's manager licked her oily fingers and stared directly into the brunette's opulent chestnut brown eyes. "How do you feel about paying for sex, Rach?"

* * *

Rachel's brownstone home was one of her pride and joys, her first major purchase after her first major paycheck. It overlooked an emerald terrain of shallow hills and a spattering of trees, and was spacious enough for her to enjoy dancing on weekends without fear of bumping against her coffee table or her bookshelf. The high umber brick walls, the wooden floorboards, and the double hung windows never failed to represent home for her.

She hung her coat and scarf on the wrought iron pegs with a tender sigh of weariness that flooded her bones. Brittany's suggestion was nothing short of shocking that Rachel was unable to respond. She hastily excused herself, begged for time to think about it, and headed straight home. After all, the concept of paying someone to have sex with her never crossed her mind.

Until today, at least.

Rachel padded along the parquetted hallway and sensed that something was amiss. There was a mild, thumping sound, a bit like the headboard slamming repeatedly against the wall. Thinking nothing of it, she weaved through her kitchen and poured herself a glass of Mourvèdre. It was already dinner time, and the apple pie barely filled her stomach, but today, she felt like breaking the rules.

She trudged on upstairs, bottle tucked underneath one arm, her wineglass in another. The hammering increased in volume as she neared the double doors of the master's bedroom. Placing the bottle of Mourvèdre on a hall table, Rachel cautiously cracked open the door, only to suck in a sharp breath at the sight that met her.

Finn. Finn and his naked, sweaty ass pumping away.

He was mounted on a lithe, pale body, and judging from the amount of testicles, it was another man.

Rachel was unsure to do, yet her body seemed to know. Her grip around her wineglass went slack, and shards of glass and wine came crashing around her stockinged feet. The noise interrupted Finn's pumping rhythm, and he jerked up and locked his eyes with Rachel. "Oh god, Rach—"

It was as if things went into bullet time. Rachel was torn between staring at Finn and diverting her eyes. But like during most cases of panic, the mind thinks the most absurd things.

' _I just ruined my bedroom floor…'_

Rachel watched Finn through glassy eyes as he scrambled up to cover himself and the young man he was fucking on  _their_  bed. Finn, her high school sweetheart, her other ally other than Brittany, was actually the enemy. He reached for her, but it was as if something snapped inside Rachel. She yanked her body back and shot Finn a look that could murder an infant. "Get the fuck out." Rachel said, in an oddly serene voice. "Get the fuck out of my house, Finn.  _Now!_ "

The sharp crack of Rachel's voice sent the two men into action. The young, pale man hastily got dressed, while Finn did the same, stumbling down onto the bed as he tugged his jeans on. Still, Rachel remained and stood by the doorway, watching without focusing on anything other than the carmine liquid seeped through the floorboards. All that crossed her mind was how to clean it up.

"Rachel…" Finn tried again, but the actress was having none of it. She merely pointed towards the stairs. "You won't even let me explain?"

"There's nothing to explain,  _Finn._ " She spat out his name like it was the last thing she wanted crossing her mouth. "Just get out of  _my_  house!"

After that, Rachel was unable to cling on to details. She remembered hearing the sound of footsteps waning out into the street. The stench of disgusting, putrid male sweat and sex filled their—no, Rachel's—bedroom. She can't stay here. Not if she wanted to hate everything that was in her life at the very moment. Rachel stepped out and shut the door, her mind's eye burning with the image of Finn mounting a man. The fact that it was a man was not the issue. Of course not. But the fact that  _Finn_  was fucking  _someone else_ , on their  _fucking_ bed. The one they bought together in Ikea, the same one Finn struggled to assemble.

Rachel retreated to her sanctuary, a makeshift office downstairs right by the kitchen. In the beginning, when her house was barely furnished, she dedicated herself to the very idea of having her private room that not even Finn could breach. It was Rachel's favourite room. It was furnished with deep browns and a rosewood-hued couch. She slumped down on it and cupped her face into her hands.

What does she do now? What  _can_  she do?

Rachel tapped her phone and brought it up to her ear. "Brittany? It's me. I… I feel like I'm going to be okay with it. With the prostitute."


	2. ladies' choice

Brittany lived in a high-rise condominium that was more spacious than Rachel’s brownstone, or so it seemed, due to the simplicity of her furniture. A leather couch, shelves, and a coffee table facing towards a wide-screen television. Rachel sat on a bar stool overlooking the balcony as she sipped her double-shot of espresso while Brittany fried up some eggs and toasted some bread. She sliced up a bowl of fruit for Rachel to fill her stomach, still empty from last night. But Rachel won’t have a bite.

“You need to eat.” Brittany said, exasperated. “If you don’t, you might get sick, and I can’t have that happen.”

Rachel sighed and nibbled on a strawberry. “I just can’t, Brittany. I’m still so messed up from yesterday.” She rubbed her throbbing head and her sore neck. She slept on Brittany’s couch late last night after the phone call. Brittany sensed that something was off for Rachel to change her mind so quickly, and so asked if she wanted to come over.

Now, she was nursing her pale porcelain espresso cup, playing with her food, and deaf to everything Brittany was saying. Even as she tried to bribe Rachel by promising her favourite vegan cake, the actress refused to emerge from her bout of depression. This wasn’t about Finn at all.

It was about how now, Rachel was alone.

Brittany stood in front of Rachel with her platter of eggs and toast. She chewed quietly, waiting for Rachel to speak. Yet she did not, as if her tongue left her just like Finn did. However, Brittany was patient. She spent the entire day lounging around with Rachel, no longer forcing her to talk nor to eat. They watched a few movies, read through magazines and fan mail, until finally, Rachel called out Brittany’s name.

“I’m not the kind of girl who just sits here while the world thinks I’m heartbroken.” She vowed, the fire in her eyes ignited by something brighter and more ferocious. “I don’t want Finn back. We were over the moment we graduated high school. Those years we spent apart, I don’t remember missing him, because I was too caught up in school and auditions and… I’m better without him!” Rachel shot off the couch and beamed at Brittany, who watched her with pride in her eyes. “Forget what PR will think when they hear about this. I hired them to clean this kind of thing up for me anyway.”

“And he’s gay. Congratulations to him.” Brittany said while she crossed her legs and threw the magazine on the coffee table. “But you said you wanted what I offered you. The prostitute.”

Rachel blinked and nodded slowly. “I do. I haven’t changed my mind about it yet. You need to tell me all about how it works. I don’t want to miss out on any detail.”

“Of course. I didn’t expect anything less.” Brittany grinned and grabbed her laptop. She booted it up and logged into her email and onto a private website that included a complicated password—at least complicated in Rachel’s point of view. “Quinn’s really good at what she does.”

“ _She?”_ Rachel demanded as page loaded, showing a… for lack of better word, handsome blonde with the eyes that encouraged a girl to do whatever they wished. “Britt, I’m straight—“

“At this point, that doesn’t matter. It’s 2023, Rachel. I thought you’re past caring about sexuality? Haven’t you _evolved?_ ” Brittany said as she clenched and opened up her fists. “Rachel, don’t be annoying for five minutes, okay? Quinn calls herself a woman, but she has a dick. And personally, it’s awesome because she’s like a girl with the way she thinks and speaks and acts, but she has a lady cock that she uses _way, way_ better than any man.”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”

“Easy. I had sex with her before. Anyway,” Brittany scrolled through Quinn’s website and clicked on her portfolio. It revealed tasteful images of the half-naked woman, dressed in nothing but a pair of stonewashed jeans that were unzipped. Rachel licked her lips for they were dry, and released a soft breath. She had _abs_ , and her Adonis Belt was defined, and… Rachel was _definitely_ uncomfortable now, and she blamed the lack of action for the past eleven months. She squirmed in her seat, and beside her Brittany giggled. “What?”

“Oh nothing.” Brittany hummed as she scrolled down the photo gallery. She tapped the mouse pad and it enlarged a photo of Quinn wearing nothing but tight boxer briefs, a white button down draped over her shoulders, and a loose neck tie around her neck. It wasn’t so much the lack of clothing that appealed to Rachel—it did, more than words could say—but it was the way Quinn stared into the camera’s lens that drove Rachel wild and short of breath. Her hazel eyes smouldered and left molten heat in Rachel’s lower belly. “She’s hot, right?”

Rachel cleared her throat. “Does she… Have photos of her co—her penis?”

Brittany smirked. “She has you now. No one asks for photos of her lady cock until they _really_ want to sleep with her. But no, none on her website. Quinn said that if she posted her dick pics online, people would find a way to get to it, and she would lose business. Why pay money when you can just download them, get a dildo for eighty bucks, and masturbate to the thought of it pounding inside you?” Brittany closed the image and it elicited a soft whimper in the back of Rachel’s throat. “But I can guarantee you that Quinn is worth every dollar. That is, if you’re willing to pay for her services.”

“How much?”

Brittany pulled up a catalogue of sorts, and the prices that leapt out of the screen made Rachel gasp. “Four hundred bucks for three hours? That’s so expensive!”

“Four hundred bucks for at least ten gasping, shaking, intense orgasms? I don’t think so.” Brittany leaned back and crossed her legs, offering the laptop to Rachel. Quinn’s prices were exuberant, to be sure, but Rachel couldn’t help but want to see for herself if every penny was indeed worth paying for. To be with Quinn for ten hours cost $700, and for fifteen hours, $900. She had long-term rates as well: $5 500 a week, $10 000 a month, and fifty grand for six months.

After a few moments of contemplating the prices, Rachel released a breath. “Nine hundred dollars, huh?”

Brittany grinned and took the laptop back from Rachel. “So you’re willing to pay for fifteen hours? You can afford it, of course. No problems there. I can call her today and tell her about you. I’ll give her your address, and she’ll be there as soon as she can. Is that okay?”

“Definitely. But, Britt—will she be, you know, secretive about this? Actors who seek out prostitutes, even when promised with confidentiality are often found out. Look at Hugh Grant and Tiger Woods!”

Shaking her head, the blonde manager rose and pulled Rachel up with her. “You haven’t heard any of the female cast of Perfect Link being caught with anything resembling a sex scandal, have you? Even though Quinn had been with them for at least two years? Quinn is the ladies’ choice, Rachel. I promise every dime is worth it. She’s fun, easy to like, and great to talk to.”

“The cast of Perfect Link? Seriously?” Rachel nibbled on her bottom lip and relaxed, resigning herself to the idea of _paying_ for sexual release. “You go ahead and tell her, while I go home and… Deal with what Finn left.”

 

* * *

 

The sickening stench of Finn, sweat, and male sex lingered when Rachel stepped inside their— _no,_ it’s just _her_ bedroom now. She focused on not gagging despite her lack of reflex. She covered her mouth and nose and thought about nothing that concerned Finn, and it wasn’t difficult at all. It was then that Rachel realised that something like this was bound to happen, and so she felt at peace with the fact that Finn _cheated_ on her. With a man.

That was not the problem. She entered _her_ bedroom, loathing Finn for leaving a mess that _she_ had to clean up. At least he had the decency to put towels down and not ruin the mattress. Rachel grabbed a pair of her longest kitchen tongs and dumped the towel into a black garbage bag to be taken away by her housekeeper. Rachel scowled at the bed for a few moments, before she decided that it would be best to tear the bed sheets, the duvet cover and the pillow cases as well, tossing them inside the same garbage bag as the towel.

Rachel rinsed her hands and replaced the sheets with fresh ones and lit pomegranate candles that filled the room with earthy, fruity scents. She closed her eyes and closed the bedroom door to have a snack of crisp roti bread slathered with hummus. As she sipped her tall glass of mango juice laced with vodka, the doorbell rang.

She peeked through the glass pane, her breath hitching at the sight of a tall, slender blonde. It was Quinn, already, and Rachel had yet to take a shower. She hastily fixed her shirt and her hair before opening the door. “I didn’t expect you to come so soon. Or today, even.”

The slow, sensuous smile that curled Quinn’s lips made Rachel weak in the knees. “Sorry about that.” Her voice was husky and Rachel, without having been touched, was already reeling. She cleared her throat and wrung her hands, forming a calm exterior. After all, she didn’t want to appear easy in front of the prostitute. “I had time on my hands, so I’m here now. Shall I leave and come back later?”

“No!” Rachel parted her door wider and motioned for Quinn to come in. She stepped inside through the hallway and followed Rachel into the living room. Taking the offered seat, Quinn sat straight and followed Rachel’s movements with her eyes. “So… You’re Quinn.”

“Indeed.” She smiled again, the corners of her eyes crinkling. Rachel appreciated the seemingly alabaster skin of Quinn’s neck, and how it was cut off by a crimson shirt with wood buttons. “Brittany told me you wanted to know if my services are worth it. I don’t do free trial runs, sadly.” She procured a manila envelope and offered it to Rachel. “My medical records. I bring them every time I meet a new client so you can see for yourself that I’m not lying about my health.”

Rachel accepted the envelope and took out Quinn’s records. She read through it and nodded her head. Quinn was clean. “Thank you. Brittany assures me that you’re worth every dollar, and I trust her judgment.” Her gaze raked down Quinn’s tight form, lingering to the bulge in her trousers, before returning to her mild, smirking features. “I saw your pictures online, and…” Rachel cleared her throat and fought the urge to blush. She was an _actress_ , for crying out loud! It should take more than a gorgeous blonde with a promising package to transform her into a blushing virgin.

“They’re not photoshopped in any way.” Quinn assured her. “Well, the lighting was altered and they colours were made brighter. But other than that, nothing else.” She smiled again and spread out her arms. “Would you like to do an inspection?”

“Later,” Rachel bit the inside of her lip and glanced at the watch. “Is this part of the fifteen hours?”

Quinn shook her head. “It doesn’t start until we both agree it does.”

“Before we start, do you promise that you won’t tell anyone? About this?” Rachel demanded. “I don’t want to ruin my public image by telling the world and their mother that I hire _prostitutes._ ” She said the word so scathingly, yet Quinn did not flinch. She merely raised a sculpted brow.

“I’m not interested in blackmail. Frankly, I’m not even interested on whether you’re famous, so long as you can pay me.” Quinn’s tone took an icy tone, and Rachel found herself shivering. “I’m not in the business of feeding tabloids and trashy, so-called entertainment magazines about your personal life. I’m in the business of shattering the world you know, and rebuilding your universe, one orgasm at a time.”

It was a bold statement, but Quinn executed it so deftly and with no ounce of hesitation or doubt that Rachel believed every single word. “Oh. W-well…”

Quinn chuckled and offered her hand to Rachel, which she took. They stood in the middle of Rachel’s living room, the afternoon sun leaving orange beams along the hardwood floors. “If you would just read my medical records, I can also assure you that I get tested every two weeks. I do have condoms, but I take a pill that prevents me from impregnating women. It’s up to you.”

Rachel swallowed back her nervousness as Quinn took a step closer. She could feel the blonde’s body heat exuding and enveloping Rachel’s trembling body. “No condoms. And I’m clean as well. I… I haven’t had sex in _months_.”

The seductress smiled and extracted her fingers from Rachel. She cupped the actress’ cheek and tipped her chin with the pads of her fingers. "Allow me to fix that. Now,” Quinn cleared her throat and took a slow step back, as if in a dance. “Would you like to inspect the merchandise?” She teased, holding her arms out and offering an inviting smile that made Rachel weak-kneed. The actress offered the hustler a crooked smile. Tension had yet to dissipate from her nerves. She grasped the collar of Quinn’s field jacket and tugged it off her firm shoulders. Rachel traced the exposed ridges of the blonde’s collarbones and, one by one, unclasped each button.

Quinn stood still, grinning as Rachel took her time. With her shirt parted and her breasts and stomach exposed, Rachel shuddered and raked her nails along the marble skin, pale and smooth and firm. Quinn’s breath hitched, and the minimal sound from that action made Rachel release a breath of her own. She sat on the edge of the couch, her thumbs hooked around Quinn’s belt loops as she tugged her closer. With fumbling fingers, Rachel managed to unbutton the prostitute’s trousers. She was wearing a simple pair of black boxer briefs that clung to her hips and waist and ass like second skin.

It was the sexiest bulge that Rachel had ever encountered, and the only thought that coursed through her mind was how much she wanted to see what’s _inside_ , like a present only for her. With trembling fingertips, Rachel cupped Quinn’s cock through her undergarments and memorized the shape. She could feel it pulse and harden as she stroked it to complete erectness. It jutted out, the leaking tip peeking out of the waistband of Quinn’s boxer briefs. It was flattering how, after only a few minutes of feeling up Quinn’s penis, she was already completely erect, her length straining inside her underwear.

“Tell me, Quinn.” Rachel husked, her lips tracing the line along the blonde’s abdomen. “What do your clients usually ask of you?”

Quinn grunted and held Rachel’s hand that rested against her hipbone. “They ask me to tie them up.” She grinned and watched Rachel’s teeth sink into the flesh of her hip, before she kissed a path along her waistband. “And have my way with them.”

“Maybe one of these days, I’ll tie _you_ up.” The actress dragged her palm against Quinn’s rigid cock and pulled away. “But for now, you should show me what you can do.”

Smirking, Quinn fell to her knees and situated herself between Rachel’s legs. She spread them, nice and wide, her warm hands caressing the smoothness of the actress’ calves. Quinn made quick work with Rachel’s dress, leaving her in her lacy panties and matching bra. “Sexy,” Quinn hummed, her lips pliant and tender against Rachel’s bellybutton.

Months of being left high and dry during kissing and sexual scenes left Rachel sensitive and gasping as Quinn seemed to know her ticklish spots. But instead of jerking and fighting against her touch, it sent jolts of arousal through Rachel’s spine. As Quinn pressed the pads of her fingers into Rachel’s sides and tossed her brassiere to the floor, the actress began to whimper and claw at the blonde’s back.

She palmed the soft mounds and squeezed Rachel’s nipples. Quinn took one into her mouth and moistened it with her saliva. She suckled and toyed with the stiff buds, while Rachel squirmed and arched off the couch to push more of her flesh into Quinn’s greedy, talented mouth. The prostitute nuzzled Rachel’s thighs, soft and firm, and sank her teeth into the flesh. She parted the actress’ labia and licked her lips at the delectable sight of her entrance, and her stiff clit. Quinn kissed it, and the touch sent a tremor along Rachel’s spine.

“Oh!” She gasped, her body arching and trembling, as Quinn’s tongue peeked out between her lips to have a taste of Rachel’s juices. She teased Rachel until she was yanking and humping Quinn’s mouth. “Quinn, come _on!_ ”

“Brittany’s right. You don’t have a patient nerve in this sexy body.” Quinn smiled and as soon as her mouth parted to connect with Rachel’s core, a sharp rap against the front door interrupted them.

Rachel growled in frustration, her body falling limp. She was _so_ close. She could feel Quinn’s heated breath against her slick entrance. To be interrupted must be a test for Rachel’s strength. So she swallowed hard and with shaking hands, clothed herself while Quinn did the same. She had the bone to smirk, though to be fair, in her pants she had another _bone_ entirely.

“What a shame.” Quinn hummed, as if unaffected by the interruption despite the hard evidence of her arousal. “I was so close to devouring your pussy.” She licked her lips and winked at Rachel. “I could smell you, and I’m sure if I close my eyes, I can feel your juices coating my tongue.” Her words, rich and uttered in such dulcet tones made Rachel’s knees weak—or at least, weaker.

Again, another sharp knock. Rachel stamped her feet in frustration, but fixed her attire until she looked presentable.

 

_today’s proverb: Hey little girl on a spending spree. I don't come cheap but the kisses come free. On closer inspection I'm sure that you'll agree. I'm the ladies' choice. **Link Larkin** ; **Hairspray.**_


	3. no rest for the wicked.

While she remained frustrated, Rachel’s attention wavered away from the knocking against the door and focused on how she could still see the bulge in Quinn’s trousers. It took most of her will to look away, and it was as if the prostitute knew what she wanted. She smirked and ran her fingers through her short, blonde hair, making it messier than it already was. “I’ll call you. Later. Brittany gave me your number.” Rachel managed to grit out.

 

 

Quinn nodded her head and grabbed her things. "I'll be waiting." She murmured, her body close to Rachel's so that she could feel her warmth. Perhaps it was the teasing and her oversensitive nerves, but Rachel felt weak and light-headed. Quinn traced her jaw with her fingertips, until they grazed the actress' bottom lip.

The person outside the door knocked again, louder this time. Quinn sighed in defeat and stepped aside so Rachel could admit them in, or see what they wanted. Outside on the front steps was Rachel's housekeeper, Delilah. She blinked and stared between Quinn and Rachel. "Did I interrupt anything?"

"No, of course not." Rachel huffed, and throwing a final glance at her, Quinn nodded and left the brownstone without another word. Rachel stepped aside and allowed Delilah in, her cleaning materials in a cart behind her. "I forgot you were coming today. I'm sorry."

"It's perfectly alright," the house cleaner assured her. "But where is Mr. Hudson?"

Rachel released a soft breath. "He's… out. I'll be in my office when you're done."

Without another word, Rachel retreated behind the oak door of her office. Not even Finn was allowed inside, and Rachel did the cleaning of her sanctuary herself. Along the walls were shelves of books—mostly biographies of famous people. On the lower shelf were Rachel's collection of movies and music. By the window was a small loveseat, a desk with her laptop on it, and pair of speakers. Opting for headphones at the moment, Rachel booted up her computer and eased into her comfortable desk chair and played some music in hopes to calm the ever-constant stirring in her gut.

Rachel immersed herself in the symphonic hymns, but they weren't affecting her like they used to. She blamed Quinn. Her blondeness, the firmness of her body against hers, and the texture of her skin. And that cock… The cock that she had yet to see. Rachel's toes curled at the thought, her palm mindlessly wandered down to her stomach, and eventually, to the hem of her skirt.

She gasped and jerked in her seat. She couldn't possibly think about masturbating. Not because it was lewd—she had her fair share of self-love for the past couple of months. But to be paying $900 for orgasms still seemed steep in pricing, and Rachel meant to milk Quinn for every last drop.

Groaning to herself, Rachel shut off her laptop and paced around the room. She needed to feel cool air and fresh wind—as fresh as one can get in New York City, at least. Rachel grabbed her purse which held her phone and her keys. She met Delilah who was in the middle of scouring the kitchen counter. After telling her that she would be out for a while, Rachel left her home and headed towards the direction of the park. Maybe there was a little league game that she could distract herself with, at least long enough until it was time to call Quinn again.

Rachel huffed and tightened her coat around her body. She trudged along the gravel path, sunglasses perched atop her nose, and made her way towards the baseball diamond, where sure enough, a baseball game was being held.

* * *

Delilah, with her steel wool in her gloved hands, looked up as soon as she heard the door slam right into its frame. She waited for a few moments, just standing still, waiting until everything seemed calm. That was when she yanked the rubber gloves off her hands and went upstairs. She gently pushed Rachel's bedroom door open and peered inside. Now that she was sure that she was entirely alone, Delilah walked in and rifled through Rachel's closet, her bathroom, and even beneath her bed.

With a huff, Delilah straightened up and allowed herself to look around the room in case something or anything was amiss. And there was. On the left bedside table, there used to be a frame of Finn and Rachel, happy and lips touching.

But now, there was no more. The entire surface of the desk was empty, no photograph in sight. And even on Rachel's side, the photo of Finn she always kept was gone. Memories, that a week ago were fresh and happy, were now stale and bitter.

Delilah stood up and reached inside her pocket for her phone. "Hello, Miss Beasly? It's Delilah. No, Miss Berry isn't here right now. I have news. Her boyfriend, Mr. Hudson? He's not here, and I just checked the rooms. I think they broke up."

* * *

Rachel returned to the brownstone before the match ended. She grew to like the red-capped team, and not only because they were the home team, and hoped that they win. In her apartment, Delilah was straightening out the couch cushions and throw pillows. "Thanks for your hard work." Rachel smiled, pulling out the cheque for Delilah's bi-monthly services. "My house is always so much brighter after you've cleaned it."

The house help bit her lip and nodded, accepting the cheque with a dip of her head. "Thank you so much, Miss Berry. You're not messy at all, so everything is easy to clean."

The actress chuckled and watched Delilah leave, her door closing behind her. Rachel landed on the soft couch and allowed the peaceful silence of her home wash over her. She may seem at peace, but the dull throbbing between her legs refused to be forgotten. As much as she wanted to call Quinn up and have her nine hundred dollars' worth of sex and orgasms, she needed to shower and eat to keep her energy up. She didn't want to allow Quinn the delight of witnessing her, Rachel Barbra Berry, out of breath and limp from pleasure.

Rachel made herself a quick bowl of pasta with mounds of mixed vegetables, grated parmesan, and pesto sauce. She sipped orange juice, and ate in silence, every forkful of tender noodles bringing her closer to that shower, the phone call, and ultimately, closer to feeling Quinn again. Dumping her bowl in her dishwasher, Rachel moved slowly. She held off sex for months. A moment or two more would not hurt.

As she sank into the warm, rose-scented water in her tub, Rachel allowed her imagination to drift. She wanted to think about herself. Nothing about Finn, her career, or her co-stars. She wanted to float in her heavenly warm bath, filled with tender thoughts and pleasant sensations. At least, until the water cooled down and her skin showed initial signs of wrinkling. Rachel stepped out of the bath, drained the plug, and wrapped herself in her downy bathrobe. She pulled on a simply attire of a skirt and a button down shirt rolled up to her elbows. She could easily call Quinn in nothing but her robe, but she did not wish to appear too easy nor too eager.

Rachel took a deep, relaxing breath, just like how her yoga instructor told her to, during times of trepidation. Anxiety or any form of negativity oozed out of her in torrents, as the pads of her fingers pressed every digit of Quinn's phone number. "Hello, Quinn. It's me, Rachel."

"All alone and ready, then?" Rachel could hear the smile in Quinn's tone, and oddly enough, instead of irritating Rachel, it made her smile. "I'll be there in a few moments."

Those 'few moments', or so Quinn said, were the lengthiest moments Rachel was ever forced to endure. She paced across her living room, her eyes never leaving the clock that hung overhead the television. Rachel, in her impatience, slumped down on the couch and huffed.

And then, a knock sounded out against her front door.

Rachel froze and swallowed hard. This was it. It was time. She rose up, and in careful, even steps, she opened the door and there, standing on her front steps, was Quinn. Relief flooded her, yet she did not show it. She had been waiting for so long for orgasmic salvation, taking in the form of Quinn, that she expected someone else to be knocking at her door at this time of the night. Perhaps a deliveryman, or an insane fan. Either way, now that Quinn was here, Rachel allowed herself to relax.

"Are you going to invite me in, or am I catering to your naughty desires tonight by fucking you against your front door?" Quinn husked, her body pressing up against Rachel's. The actress moaned softly, but soon cleared her throat, grasped Quinn's coat by their lapels, and yanked her inside. She slammed the door shut, hoping to any divine being listening that no paparazzi was outside to see the prostitute enter her home.

Quinn stumbled in, her coat still clutched in Rachel's tight fist. They end up in the living room again, standing close like they never left each other. The blonde ran her hands through her hair and eased Rachel's fingers loose. "You know, I think I'm going to have to restart that fifteen hours." She smiled and shook her coat off, and threw it on the arm of the couch. Quinn straightened her shirt collar. "I don't usually do trial runs, but it seems that you are an exception."

Rachel shouldn't have blushed, but she did anyway. "Good. I want my money's worth."

"And you shall have it." Quinn offered her hand to Rachel, which the actress took. She tipped the brunette's chin upwards and placed a tender kiss to her plump mouth, as she was led to sit on the couch. Quinn knelt on the floor, right between Rachel's legs and continued to kiss her, lips gliding against Rachel's. The blonde grasped Rachel's legs and ran her hands up her thighs, into her skirt.

The actress had been in wanting for so long, had been anticipating Quinn and her mouth, her hands, anything, that she felt numb. The dull throbbing increased between her legs. She yanked Quinn on top of her, moaning softly at the firmness of her body, her warmth, the stickiness of her minty breath licking her cheek. Rachel dragged her hands up Quinn's toned arms, then around the back of her neck, her fingers entangling with Quinn's cropped blonde hair.

Quinn's mouth trailed along Rachel's warm, blushing cheek and brushed the actress' parted lips. She took Rachel's bottom lip into her mouth and suckled, her fingers reaching the front of the brunette's panties. Rachel shivered and clung to Quinn tighter, her nails forming faint crescents against pale skin. "Let's take these off," Quinn murmured, as she expertly flicked the hook of Rachel's skirt.

Once Rachel was stripped naked, and Quinn's dress shirt unbuttoned but still draped over her body, she lowered herself to nip Rachel's stomach and hook her legs over her shoulders. However, Rachel stopped her. She pushed Quinn's shirt off her body and tugged her close by the blonde's belt loops. Unbuttoning Quinn's pants and tugging it off, Rachel held her breath at the sight of bulging boxer briefs tight against her hips.

The prostitute's nudity, Rachel thought, was definitely a welcome sight. Her body was gorgeous, had curves in all the right places, and toned. Rachel licked her lips and heard the faint chuckle coming from Quinn. "Clearly, you like what you see." She purred, her fingers tracing Rachel's outer labia with her index finger. Quinn leaned in and kissed Rachel's blushing, leaking pussy, the actress' clit twitching at the contact.

Rachel gasped as soon as Quinn's warm tongue flicked around her clit, flattening against her clenching pussy that is greedy for even more of her touch. Quinn devoured her wetness, sucking and nibbling her pussy lips as above her, the actress writhed and humped her talented tongue. When Quinn pulled back, a line of girl cum and spit trailed after her lips and cheek. "Your fifteen hours is starting now, okay?"

"Yes…" Rachel hissed, grasping Quinn's hair to yank her to her pussy. "I don't care, just—hurry!"

Quinn chuckled again and pushed the backs of Rachel's knees until her feet were brushing her ears. Rachel squealed as soon as Quinn's tongue pushed through her entrance, her pussy finally filled with something else that was not her own fingers. She held her legs, her neck bent in an awkward angle so she could watch the blonde's head between her thighs. Rachel breathed raggedly as Quinn's tongue and lips and teeth played with her core, her juices trickling down to her ass, coating the couch.

"Q-Quinn," Rachel husked, her pussy twitching, her entire body vibrating. "I need—the couch…"

The hustler looked up, but did not stop the movement of her mouth. "Hmm?"

"I d-don't want the c-couch to get ruined."

Quinn pulled back and scooped up Rachel's juices, swirled her fingertips along her entrance, and pushed a single digit inside her. "Go ahead. Make a mess. I'll clean it all up, I promise." She smirked against Rachel's inner thighs, and went back to work. She lapped up Rachel's juices, her cum leaking out of her entrance. Rachel could hear and feel Quinn humming against her pussy, as if she had yet to eat, and the actress' cum was the sweetest essence she ever tasted.

Without a warning, perhaps maybe because she forgot how a blooming orgasm felt like, Rachel convulsed and came hard. Her lungs were squeezed empty of air, the edge of her vision sparkled with white and fuzz. Whimpers of her pleasure rose and left her parted lips. Quinn, still licking away at her slick pussy, ran her hands along her thighs and reached up to palm her breasts. Her so-called prizewinners.

Rachel was in no way insecure of her body. If anything, she's proud. And her breasts, she knew, were one of her best features. In Quinn's hands, they become more than a pair of assets. In Quinn's hands, they became soft mounds, sensitive to the blonde's touch. Rachel pushed her hands further into Quinn's palms as she tweaked her dark brown nipples until they were stiff. The prostitute leaned in, pushed Rachel's breasts together, and sucked both of her nipples into her mouth, making them stiff and slick with spit.

Quinn then released the buds and nudged Rachel's forehead with hers. She brushed her lips with hers, soft and sweet, before her teeth sank into Rachel's bottom lip, parting them to dip her tongue in. The actress whimpered and tasted herself on the blonde's tongue. She tightened her arms around her neck and squeaked when she was lifted right off the couch, slender legs wrapped around Quinn's hips.

"Show me to your bedroom," the escort murmured. She climbed up the steps, obeying Rachel's directions. Quinn kicked the door down, ripped the duvet cover off the bed before easing Rachel down on the cool silk that caressed her skin. Quinn slithered up her body, her trousers and underthings bulging with her arousal. Rachel reached down and pushed her jeans off, leaving Quinn in black boxer briefs, and nothing else.

"Take it off. I want to see." Rachel demanded. The blonde wasted no time yanking it off. Rachel gasped at the sight of Quinn's cock. The way it bobbed when it was released from its confines enabled a shudder to rip through Rachel. She wanted it. She wanted it bobbing inside her, reaming her open until she was screaming.

Quinn's cock was pale, veined, and eager to serve. It jutted out between her thighs, heavy with its tip leaking clear beads of precum. "You said you can't get me pregnant." Rachel's eyes raked up Quinn's torso to her eyes.

The escort nodded and palmed her testicles—they were a handful, baby smooth by the looks of it. Rachel couldn't wait to have them in her mouth, spilling along her lips. She swallowed and attempted to look directly into Quinn's smirking features, her hazel eyes sparkling in amusement. Rachel imagined that her cock would seem out of place on Quinn's body, with her smooth curves and the swell of her breasts. She couldn't have been more wrong.

It was as if Quinn was proud of her cock. Every inch of it and the way it pointed to what it wanted. "Come here," whispered Rachel, her back propped up by pillows. Quinn stroked herself once and tilted her head.

"Do you want to suck me off?" She husked. She squeezed the base and slapped it against her palm.

Rachel released a slow breath and shook her head. "We have fifteen hours. That can come later. For now, I want you inside me."

"I trust that you looked through my medical records." Quinn climbed up between Rachel's legs and spread them far apart, as wide as they would go. She made a soft noise in the back of her throat at how flexible Rachel was. She glanced up at the actress beneath her eyelids and dragged her cockhead along her pussy lips. Quinn leaned over and turned her head to the side, her mouth meeting Rachel's. Her tongue pushed into the actress' mouth just as her cock slipped into her tight entrance.

Muscles clamped around Quinn's thick cockhead, and the intrusion made Rachel whimper. It's been so long since something larger than her own fingers entered her. She never owned a dildo, never saw the point of it. And now that Quinn was with her, Rachel's longing for a toy flew right out the window.

"Oh yes," she gasped, her hands closing around the base of Quinn's neck. She squeezed gently and hooked her legs around the blonde's hips, her heels digging into her ass. "You're so… I—"

"Shh," Quinn kissed her jaw and her quivering throat. "I'll take care of you. Don't worry." She pushed further inside. Rachel shivered, Quinn hitting her deep. The actress keened into the blonde, her nails digging into her back. Without even wincing, Quinn latched onto her pulse point and pushed in slowly, until she was buried all the way to the hilt. "That feel good for you?"

Rachel, her mouth parted as she sucked in ragged breaths nodded. She was unable to form words, what with Quinn's cock dragging along the sensitive walls of her pussy. The blonde increased her pace, yet her thrusts remained deep. Her mouth wandered down Rachel's chest to suckle on her taut nipples. The actress shivered and lost herself in the overarching sensations that flooded through her, the same way her juices gushed and flowed out of her entrance to coat Quinn's shaft with her girl cum.

The slickness and heat allowed Quinn to pump faster. She leaned back, grasped Rachel's thighs, and rutted into her. She went rough and fast, yanking Rachel to her cock to counter the force of her pumping hips. "Is this what you need?" Quinn husked, her palms running along Rachel's flat stomach and her bouncing tits. "Being fucked like this?"

Rachel clung to Quinn's arms, bringing her hand up to suck on her digits. A gruff moan escaped the blonde's lungs, her eyes locked on the way Rachel's tongue darted out to lick the pads of her fingers. She fed Rachel more of her fingers, gasping as she took its entire length without even gagging. "Oh fuck, no gag reflex? We're definitely going to have a lot of fun together, aren't we?"

Shivering, Rachel clamped her lips around Quinn's fingers and sucked. The blonde grunted and fucked her harder, ignoring the way the bed squeaked. With her free hand, Quinn rubbed Rachel's clit in rough, rapid strokes. "You're going to come, I can tell." She smirked down at the actress who was writhing against her. "Your pussy is clenching up, wanting my cock deeper in there."

Rachel gasped sharply and came hard when Quinn lifted her legs and clamped them together. Her cock felt bigger as her pussy tightened and squeezed around the thick length. "Yes, yes, yes…" She whined, her body keening and her fists yanking at the silk sheets beneath her. "Oh, Quinn…" Rachel whimpered out the prostitute's name as if she was her salvation. "Oh my god…"

Quinn fucked into Rachel's slick pussy a few more times. "Do you want my cum inside you?" She panted, her fingers digging into her thighs. "Hurry, Rachel. Tell me."

The actress clawed the escort's stomach. "Pull out. Let me see how much you come."

Obeying quickly, Quinn yanked her cock out of Rachel's pussy. The brunette whimpered at the loss, but soon moaned in pleasure at the sight of Quinn's cock. It was slick and covered with a mix of their juices. It looked thicker as she pumped it, rough and fast. Rachel sat up and grasped her balls, and that was enough for Quinn. She let out a grunt, her cum shooting out in ropes all over Rachel's soft belly. Once she finished coming, she nudged the head of her cock back into the actress' pussy, gasping as the wet heat surrounded her sensitive tip.

She fell on top of Rachel, her arms on either side of her. Quinn kissed her and she pushed more of her length inside Rachel's pussy. "I don't want to spend more than a few moments without your pussy around me." Quinn husked, wrapping Rachel's arms around her neck to pull them up in a sitting position. "Now…" She cupped Rachel's ass and squeezed, her lips tracing the brunette's collarbones. "I promised every buck's worth, didn't I?"

Rachel found herself smiling at the tenderness of Quinn's mouth, her hands roaming her body caused gooseflesh to rise. "You better not sleep tonight." Rachel said against Quinn's jaw. She never expected this softness from a prostitute. It was as if she expected Quinn to be rough and brutal. Rachel was sure that she could ask Quinn to be those things, but for some reason, she was enjoying this. The intimacy. Even if it was paid for.

Quinn grinned and thrust her thick cock inside, until she was balls deep. "Then you better call in sick for work tomorrow."

She cupped the back of the blonde's neck and kissed her soft lips. They were so tender and so sweet.

She would never mind getting used to this.

  
_today's proverb: There is no peace, says my god, to the wicked._ _**Isaiah 57:21**_  


__


	4. history of a pleasure seeker

There was a distant ache in Quinn’s body that stirred her from her rest, only to realize where she was. Tanned arms wrapped around her waist, thick locks of hazelnut tresses tickling her chest, and a soft, warm thigh pressed against her erection told her all she wanted and needed to know. She rarely stayed at a client’s place long enough for a nap. She always left as soon as the time was up. But when Quinn checked her phone, it was only eight in the morning. They had five hours left, and Quinn was sure as hell making the best of it. She was not one to cheap out on orgasms.

It was why ladies kept coming back for more.

She checked her phone and saw that it was flashing purple, which meant that she received a work-related text. She decided to ignore it, mostly because she was a client at the moment. The others can wait.

Throwing the covers over her head, she crawled down to the juncture of Rachel’s legs and breathed in the scent of her. Girls, ladies, women. They all smelled so good. Musky and sweet and salty, all at once. Quinn licked her lips, hooked Rachel’s slender legs up her shoulders, and licked from Rachel’s puckered asshole up to her clit. Her saliva streaked the actress’ flesh, as her fingers prised apart her labia so Quinn could get to her succulence. She flattened her tongue against Rachel’s entrance, and dipped inside.

…Only for the girl to groan, her fingers curling into Quinn’s thick mop of thick blonde hair. Quinn raised her ass off the bed, pulled her closer to her mouth. She devoured her, her nose rubbing against Rachel’s stiff clit. She continued to shake her head, as if disagreeing. When above her, all Rachel was doing was agreeing with everything she was doing.

That was when the covers flew off the top of her head. Rachel was now awake, her bare tits heaving with every ragged breath she took. “Oh Quinn,” she gasped, all panting and blushing that Quinn’s cock twitched. “ _Yes…_ ”

Quinn rutted into the silk sheets of the bed, her fingers joining her tongue as it played and toyed with Rachel’s pussy. Her juices leaked all over her mouth and chin, and Quinn _loved_ how wet Rachel gets. She swirled her tongue around her entrance and pushed two fingers in, curling it to press the rough, spongy spot inside Rachel that made her hips jump. Quinn found out about it last night, after eating her out almost eight times.

With a shudder and a violent gasp, Rachel let out a high-pitched whine as her pussy clenched up and she came, until she was shaking and groaning and writhing against the bed. Quinn pressed her down with her arms and devoured her still, every pass of her tongue on her clit made Rachel squeak. She kissed Rachel’s clit and inner thighs before crawling up Rachel for a kiss. “Good morning.”

Rachel laughed and relaxed into the bed. “What a way to wake up. How many hours do I have left?”

The bed bounced as Quinn rolled out of it. She answered Rachel’s query as she pulled her boxers and her pants up her waist. She zipped them up but did not belt it. Rachel rose up as well and donned a bathrobe. Together, they went downstairs for breakfast. Despite being offered something more filling than a bowl of fruit and apple juice, Quinn denied politely. “As much as I love bacon,” Quinn said. “I don’t eat meat whenever I’m with or about to meet up with a client. It makes my cum taste bad.” She winked and pressed her hips into Rachel’s back where the bulge in her boxers rub up against her ass. “And you knew it for yourself. How my cum tastes.”

Rachel closed the fridge and turned around in Quinn’s arms. The softness of her body, the faint smell of sweat and sex on her skin, and her doe eyes looking up at her… It was enough for Quinn’s cock to harden in her boxers. And once the actress fell to her knees, a groan escaped Quinn’s throat. It was always that jarring sight that did it for her.

Allowing Quinn’s jeans and boxers to fall around her ankles, Rachel took her heavy meat and kissed the slit. It leaked out clear precum, which Rachel licked away. Quinn grunted, her fingers threading through silky coffee locks. “God _damn_  … That mouth is t-too good.” She grazed her thumb along Rachel’s cheek while it stretched out to take the shape of her cockhead.

Quinn wanted to close her eyes and focus on Rachel’s hot, talented mouth taking in her length where other women struggled to even take her halfway, but she didn’t. She wanted to watch Rachel, her pink lips wrapped around her pulsing cock. She breathed raggedly and pushed her dick into Rachel’s mouth, groaning when the sensitive tip dragged against the ridged roof of her mouth. “Jesus… Remember what I taught you last night?” She asked, her voice ragged. “Y-yeah, just like that. Use your tongue some more— _fuck…_ ”

Rachel bobbed her head faster, her hands roaming Quinn’s muscled thighs. She even dared to take Quinn deep in her throat, her muscles clenching and working around the escort’s throbbing cock. She made slick, choking noises, making Quinn grunt and pull back slightly. “I don’t want to make you gag, but holy shit that’s hot.”

Pulling back with her lips slick with spit, Rachel dragged her mouth up and down Quinn’s shaft. She licked her balls until Quinn was trembling and gripping the edge of the kitchen counter. “I need to come, Rachel.” Quinn begged, her fingers running through Rachel’s silky hair.

“If I make you blow your cum in my mouth, what will you do for me?” Rachel asked with a delighted grin on her lips. She kissed Quinn’s cockhead and dipped the tip of her tongue into the slit of her cock. Quinn shuddered and clung harder to the counter, as Rachel toyed with the most sensitive part of her cock.

“I’ll eat your pussy.” Quinn gasped out, her legs unstable. “I’ll eat it so well, like it’s the best I ever had. And it actually is.” She grinned and pushed her cock back between Rachel’s puckered lips. “I’ll lick you and suck you and bite down on your pussy until you’re s-shaking and screaming my name for the entire neighbourhood to hear… Then I’ll fuck you. Again. And again, until you’re shaking, quivering, writhing mess on your bed.”

Rachel shivered in delight and sucked back Quinn’s thick meat in her mouth. She bobbed her head, her tongue laving and making sure Quinn’s cock was slick with spit and precum. And soon enough, the escort was tugging on Rachel’s hair, her hips stuttering as she unloaded copious amounts of thick cum on the actress’ tongue. Rachel swallowed, and Quinn grunted. She pulled her up for a slow kiss, humming at her taste of her semen on Rachel’s mouth.

After a quick breakfast of toast, fruit preserves, and orange juice, Quinn was back on her knees, her nose and her mouth buried in Rachel’s wetness, having a different meal altogether. She slurped and nibbled until the actress was whimpering and humping her mouth in greedy juts of her hips. In her pants, Quinn was hard again. It was difficult not to be, especially because Rachel was trying so hard to keep quiet. Which is why Quinn made it her mission to help Rachel let loose; make her scream.

At least, more so than she was already doing so now.

Quinn knew she made Rachel come plenty of times, so when she came up for air, her chin soaked with Rachel’s girl cum, to see the actress’ tits rising and falling, the sated smile on her lips, and her half-closed eyelids was enough payment for Quinn. Except… Not. She still needed the nine hundred bucks she was promised. Rachel may be one of the sexiest, most delightfully corruptible client Quinn ever had, but that doesn’t mean she get her services for free.

By midday, Rachel was limp and melted against her bed, while Quinn showered in her bathroom. She emerged, her skin damp and her hair clinging close to her head. Wearing nothing but her boxer briefs and the towel around her neck, Quinn stooped down and picked up her clothes. “May I use your ironing board, if you have one?”

Rachel pointed towards the closet door, and watched as Quinn dampened her shirt and proceeded to iron it. “So, it may sound insensitive of me to ask, seeing as you’re still riding that post-orgasmic haze. About the payment?”

The actress grunted and rolled over to her bedside table. She took out a cheque, scribbled on it, and handed it back to Quinn. Nine hundred dollars, all in one piece of paper. The prostitute tucked it in her wallet. She finished straightening out her clothes and slipped it on while it was still warm. Quinn approached Rachel and kissed her forehead lightly. “You can call me whenever you want. I’m sure I’ll always have time for you.”

The cold autumn breeze stung Quinn’s cheeks while the sun beat down her back. She tightened her coat around her and wished she brought a scarf. She headed into the subway and waited for the D train that would take her to her apartment that overlooked Central Park. It took her twenty minutes at best, narrowly avoiding the man who preached the bible and the homeless woman that tackled people until they give her spare change.

Now home free, Quinn checked her phone and saw that she had another appointment in three hours. Which wasn’t so bad, since it was close by. She could walk to The Empire Hotel in Columbus Avenue in half an hour. But first, a snack and some alcohol. Not enough for a buzz, but certainly enough to feel the start of it.

Quinn toasted naan bread and ate it bare, while she downed an entire carton of pomegranate juice laced with vodka. She also broke off a square from a bar of milk chocolate and pressed it up the roof of her mouth with her tongue. She sucked it down to nothing, humming at this simple form of indulgence. After stripping down to nothing and stepping underneath the steaming jet of water, Quinn allowed herself to think while she lathered her hair with mint-scented shampoo. Rachel was the type of client who sought her out for a pure physical connection, and it wasn’t anything new. If anything, it was the most common form of clientele she received.

But there was something else; something hidden deep in the actress in the way she gasped out Quinn’s name while she came, her entire body shuddering with every touch. Or perhaps Quinn was romanticising things. Or maybe it was the booze. Nonetheless, the thought of Rachel’s arched, shaking body made her cock stir.

After the much-needed cleansing shower, Quinn dressed herself in a black and grey gingham shirt with the top three buttons unclasped, and a pair of linen jeans. She styled her hair until the thick locks were smooth and curled perfectly. She shrugged on her pea coat, made sure she had her belongings before heading out to meet with another client. Across the hotel was a bank, and she was reminded of Rachel’s cheque. But she would get to that later.

The text she received earlier told her to head up to room 308, which she did. She nodded at the manager who nodded back. Once there, she rapped against the door’s frame and smiled when it was answered by a blonde woman wearing scant clothing. Quinn smirked and held her by the hips, pressing her flush against her cold body. “ _Quinn!”_ Her client screeched, but she was still grinning. She grasped the back of Quinn’s neck and yanked her into the hotel room.

“Look at you…” Quinn murmured, her eyes raking down the woman’s body, her breasts cupped in crimson red lace. Her raven hair fell in ringlets, draped over her dark skin. Quinn licked her lips and hung her coat on a nearby rack. “All ready for me, huh? You in a rush or something?”

“For you? Never.” The woman purred. She sauntered over to Quinn and ran her fingers along the buttons of Quinn’s shirt. With dexterous fingers, she unclasped them all within ten seconds. She moaned at the sight of Quinn’s pale abdomen, and her breasts. It wasn’t until then that Quinn noticed a saxophone warbled in the background, accompanied by a piano. “I was just excited to see you, that’s all. I’ve been lonely.”

Quinn grasped the woman’s wrist, preventing her hands to wander down to her straining cock. “Have you been touching yourself without me, Alyssa? Is that any way to behave?” Quinn shook her head, reprimanding. “Get on the bed. All fours. You know what I want.”

The three hours Quinn spent with Alyssa was fantastic. Sure, her body was still a bit worn out from the fifteen hours she spent with Rachel. While she was eating Alyssa’s pussy, her mind wandered, and of all the people to think about while eating someone else’s pussy, the image of Rachel popped into Quinn’s head. Maybe it was because of those fifteen hours. Maybe Rachel was simply _that_ memorable, but it still threw Quinn off.

So she buried her face between Alyssa’s legs and focused on her.

After their _session_ , Quinn kissed Alyssa’s knuckles. The dark-skinned woman was one of Quinn’s contractual clients. For six months, she could easily text Quinn and the prostitute would come hustling across New York, if she had to, to pleasure her. It helped Quinn that she was an easy person to befriend. Though Quinn still maintained their relationship to be strictly business, she had no doubt that if the circumstances were different, they would be friends.

Night time in New York was certainly lovely, and Quinn always made sure that she experienced it firsthand. This was so different from her hometown in Ohio, where once nine o’clock hit, the suburbs turn on their porch lights, and there was no more fun to be had after. So she usually stayed at home, until she went to Yale for college. And now, six years later, she was in New York, fucking women for pay.

Not a bad life.

Quinn allowed the cool night air to transform her into a trembling mess. She climbed up to her apartment and collapsed on the couch. It was a long day. After having a quick meal of Thai spring rolls and basil fried rice, Quinn checked her calendar for the following week. It was a tentative one, with only two people lined up for Tuesday and Friday. Those who seek appointments days in advance were the harried businesswomen or the actresses. Those who call on the day of, were the ones who were single and free.

So that was her week. Two clients, with the obvious risk of adding a few more. If her parents could see her now, however. This thought always made her smile. She always imagined her WASP-y father blowing a gasket, his red face screaming and yelling at her to find an _actual_ job and to stop flaunting her _defection_ for the well-paying women of New York to see. And experience. While her mother would struggle to smile and say as long as she was happy and safe, she was okay with it.

She recalled the first and only time her father caught her on the couch of their living room. It was the kind of couch that was too uncomfortable to ever be created, but someone made it anyway, and suckers like her parents bought it as decorative furniture. It was an unspoken tenet in their home. No one sits on the couch. It wasn’t purchased to be used.

But Quinn used it anyway, with a girl writhing underneath her. A cheerleader from her school, who became one of her two best friends. Brittany was her name, and she was blonde with warm, icy blue eyes—if that made sense. She was the first girl Quinn ever made out with, and the girl who took her virginity like a precious jewel that was as guarded as the rest of Quinn’s heart.

When her father found Quinn on top of Brittany, her mouth on her neck and Brittany’s hand in her shorts, Russell Fabray roared and grabbed his daughter by her shirt collar. The fear in Quinn’s eyes—not for herself but rather, for Brittany—still plagued her. Russell kicked Brittany out, calling her names and insulting everything that Quinn _adored_ about her, until Russell called Brittany a blithering idiot, did Quinn lose her temper.

She stamped on her father’s foot and shoved him off, as hard as she could. “ _Do not call Brittany that!”_ Quinn hissed, the flames of rage and the infamous Fabray temper flaring deep inside her. She wedged herself between Brittany and his raging father. She would protect her blue-eyed girl. Even if it meant getting hurt by her own father’s hand.

Weren’t fathers supposed to protect their daughters, and not be the cause of their misery?

If it was not for Quinn’s mother who came in the nick of time just as her husband’s arm was drawn and poised to punch, Russell Fabray would’ve beat his daughter bloody. Judy Fabray calmed down her husband in the way only she could: serene and with a bottle of scotch in her hand.  With a silent look, urged Quinn and Brittany to leave the premises.

Quinn sighed. She missed her mother, but as much as she did, she would loathe to see her scumbag of a father with his scotches and whiskeys and country club friends. She wasn’t about that life. New York was better suited for her. Strangers, the fast pace, the excitement of everything. It all had yet to go away.

Entering her workout room, Quinn did a few rounds of strength training—she needed to, for when she had to lift up her clients and have them wrap their legs around her waist to fuck them against the wall, and then moved on to stamina, by way of the stationary bike. Once she was slick with sweat and panting, she moved on to working out her abs. It was, after all, one of her selling points. The other being her penis.

In the middle of her abdominal workout, her laptop made a noise. Quinn wiped her sweat away from her forehead and stomach before checking to see what it was. An email from a friend, regarding a Speakeasy event. While the term originated during the Prohibition regarding illicit liquor stores, now it was what the poets of New York call their poetry slam functions, held in midnight pubs where the music is raw and so were the people.

And Quinn was one of them.

It may seem like an odd combination—to be a poet by night and an escort by day. Not that Quinn was saying that prostitutes can’t like Pablo Neruda. Anyone could like Pablo Neruda. But when she told Brittany and Santana that she worked as an escort while doing slam poetry events on the side, they looked at her as if she was a five-headed dragon saying that she wished to run for mayor.

That was the reason that she simply didn’t mention it again.

The fact that Quinn couldn’t be honest with the intermingling of all her hobbies and line of work made her feel like a liar. But this deception was nothing new. Being a Fabray meant being used to it, and knowing to use it to one’s advantage. And this helped Quinn to form a wall between her heart and the world.

Though for some reason, a metaphorical crack was beginning to form. Quinn was unsure of any reason, but if she closed her eyes and breathed as if she was on the cusp of an orgasm, all she could see were starry eyes, and mahogany flesh, and cries of pleasure that burned through Quinn’s stomach, making her insides jump and causing her to feel things worth writing about.

Quinn jerked and stared at the distant space before her. One thought rode her brainwaves.

_Oh no…_

_today’s proverb: He thought contemptuously of the morning's sermon and of the poor fools who exchange their worldly ambitions for the vague promises of heaven. **Richard Mason.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello. There's a possibility that it would take longer for chapters 6 to 10 to be published because my desktop is still being repaired and I can't write well anymore when it comes to using my laptop. I know, I'm picky. I hope you can forgive me.


	5. PRerogative

There was no denying the spring in Rachel’s step when she skipped out of the subway entrance to head to a meeting with Brittany and her publicist. She felt as if she would float up into space. Her head was the clearest it had ever been. There was a soreness in her body that constantly reminded her of the fun she had a few days ago. With Quinn.

While Rachel hadn’t called her again, hiring the prostitute was definitely Brittany’s brightest ideas to date. Rachel was also sure that if she slept with any other prostitute, she wouldn’t feel _this_ content. It _had_ to be Quinn, and she was delighted that it was. There was something about the escort. From her cropped, blonde hair that dared defy gravity, her rippling, sinewy frame, and her cock. Rachel shook her head to get rid of her obscene thoughts. She needed to be professional for this meeting.

Rachel entered another building made out of steel and glass with quartz floors and people in suits and ties traipsing in and out of the elevators. Along with three men wearing expensive suits and another woman wearing heels that could easily be used as a murder weapon, Rachel rode the elevator up to the eighth floor. Down the hall she went, into a small conference room. Inside, Brittany and her publicist, Elle Beasly were speaking in hushed tones.

“…needs a boyfriend, or else they would lose interest!”

Raising a brow, Rachel rapped her knuckles against the doorframe before walking in. Brittany had a small frown on her usually-smiling features. Sitting beside her, Rachel stared at her publicist. In her late thirties, Elle Beasly was in charge of the public lives of multiple famous actors and actresses, and now took it upon herself to lead Rachel’s as well. “Hello, Miss Berry. So glad that you’re here now.” She shuffled her papers, her lengthy, manicured nails tapping against the desk. “I heard about your… _altercation_ with Mr. Hudson.”

“Altercation is a funny word.” Rachel shook her head and turned to Brittany. How could Elle possibly know? She was sure that Brittany wouldn’t betray her trust like that. “But no, we didn’t have an altercation. We _broke_ up.”

“Yes, yes.” Elle waved her hand impatiently while she tucked a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear. “The question is, why? Can’t you simply get over the fact that he’s gay now and carry on pretending that everything is fine? You’re an actress, aren’t you? Can’t you _act_?”

Rachel clenched her fists and released a slow breath. “No. I _can’t_ act regarding my personal life. I would prefer keeping my professional life separate from it. When I’m not being filmed or if I’m not on stage, I don’t pretend. I’m only human, and I _loathe_ being lied to. And that’s exactly what Finn did. He lied—cheated on me. It’s not that he’s gay. I have gay dads. But he cheated on me with another person, on _our_ bed!”

She fumed, glaring at the poised woman that was staring her down. If this was a test of dominance, Rachel would win at all costs. Even if it meant purchasing eye drops later. She would dare not back down, and she would not allow this requirement to have a public life direct her entire career.

To Rachel’s relief, Elle sighed and shook her head in evident disdain. But it was she who looked away first. “Fine. But know this, Rachel Berry. You _need_ a publicity boyfriend. If not Mr. Hudson, what about your co-star? William something, was it?”

“No thank you.” Rachel fumed. She clearly had yet to win the show of who was the _actual_ boss. “I like my co-star well enough. But I don’t even want to pretend that I’m dating him. He’s not my type.” _None of them are sexy blondes with a cock that can make me forget my own name_ , Rachel thought. “I decline to forge a fake relationship for the sake of the media! It’s horrible and it’s a cycle that’s going to have to end. _Now_.”

The challenging look that crossed Elle’s piercing green eyes did not waver Rachel one bit, or so she would like to believe. “Is that so? Do you _really_ think you’re the first rising actor who denied the long-standing tradition of PR romances?” She said with ice lacing her voice, her manicured nails tapping a terrifying rhythm against the desk’s wooden surface. “Sadly for you, that’s not the case.” She smirked then and closed her stack of paperwork. “You’ll have a choice. Consider yourself lucky; I rarely allow defiant actors and actresses a choice once they gave me the lip. You get to choose between your co-star and someone else. An eligible bachelor, preferably a struggling actor as well. I’ll email Brittany a list.” Elle Beasly ran a finger along her perfectly coifed hair and rose off her seat. “We’re done here.”

Together, Rachel and Brittany rode the elevator down to the main floor. They walked in silence, allowing the chastising to truly sink in, especially for Rachel. She thought she was being smart and independent by giving her publicity manager a piece of her mind, only to be reminded that this was not the first time that something like this happened—that someone like her had pretend to be in love with someone. Else.

Rachel’s eyes widened at the thought. _Else?_ Who else could Rachel possibly fall in love with?

Brittany glanced at her and, taking her by the elbow, led her to a dim lit pub. They sieged a booth, the red vinyl squeaking beneath their weight as a waiter handed them laminated menus. Happy hour doesn’t start until nine o’clock. Sadly. “Is everything okay? You look a bit bummed. Though that’s to be expected. I think Beasly has that effect on people.”

Shrugging her shoulders, Rachel missed the good mood she had that morning. “I don’t really want to talk about her anymore. She’s bad for me.”

Brittany nodded and squeezed Rachel’s hands, before waving the waiter over. The blue-eyed blonde ordered herself a plate of fish and chips and a beer, while Rachel got herself an eggplant wrap and a mango smoothie.

As they waited for their nourishment, Brittany leaned in, a scandalous glint in her eye. “So…? Will you tell me how _it_ went?”

Rachel should’ve known better than to play dumb with Brittany. She was, after all, the one who knew her best. “What are you talking about?”

Her manager rolled her eyes and played with her paper napkin, her nails tapping against the pinewood surface of their table. “Oh _please._ You think I didn’t hear you humming before you entered the office? You had a spring in your step until Beasly took it away from you.”

Their food arrived before Rachel managed to get a word out. Steaming platters of pasta and fries, along with their drinks, and the flirtatious winking waiter came to distract Rachel for the moment. She needed the time to compose herself. She dared not reveal exactly how _well_ things went, even if Brittany was her best friend. It just seemed unprofessional to divulge so much information in so little time.

Besides, what was there to say? Rachel told Brittany about the shaking orgasms, the way Quinn ate her pussy until it felt as if she was being exorcised free of exhaustion and her trifle worries, and fucked her into the mattress until the sun filtered through the glass panes, warming her slick skin, setting her alive and on fire. She could feel the distinct soreness coursing through her body, reminding her how Quinn made her feel. It had been so long since she felt like this. Was is possible to feel this constantly, like a habit? _Perhaps it was normal,_ Rachel mused, _for Quinn’s clients to feel this way about her._

There was something telling at how Brittany looked at her though, after Rachel told her sexual adventures with Quinn. Something like… Amusement, and regret, all wrapped in one. The blue-eyed blonde nibbled a thick stalk of homemade fries and stared at the seemingly-unique pattern of the deep-fried batter that encrusted her haddock slice. “I imagined this was going to happen, but I didn’t think it was this soon…”

Rachel furrowed her brow and clasped her fingers beneath her chin. “What are you talking about?”

“Quinn.” Brittany stated, avoiding Rachel’s gaze. She focused on dipping her golden brown fish chunks into malt vinegar dip. “You’re acting, I don’t know… Like you have a _crush_ on her. That’s not good, Rach.” Her cerulean eyes glinted with something ominous. “Not because you have a crush, because crushes are fun. Sometimes. But because it’s with Quinn.” She took a deep breath and feigned a smile. Rachel could tell. “I’m saying this as your friend, not your manager. But whatever feelings you have for Quinn need to stop. Now.”

The need to digest Brittany’s words, as well as her lunch, made something ache deep inside Rachel. She couldn’t believe that Brittany, of all people, would act this way. “You’re the one who told me to seek her out in the first place.”

“I know, but that was because I thought you weren’t so… _gullible!_ ”

Seething now, Rachel shot up and off her seat. She tossed a twenty on the table and ran, despite Brittany’s cries of her name. She ran, relentless, towards the nearest station. She boarded the train, her teeth forming jagged indentations against the inside of her lip. Rachel kept her head down throughout the train ride, and until she reached her home.

Fumbling for her phone, Rachel sent a quick text to Quinn that demanded her to come over. Rachel sat on the couch, arms crossed, toes tapping an erratic rhythm against her parquet floors. She stared at the distant wall, her eyes smouldering with something to prove. She was _not_ in love with Quinn. She could have sex with her, as much as she wanted, and not have the fluttering in her chest transmute into the beating of dragon wings.

Rachel heard the soft rap against her door, and she had never bolted out of the couch fast enough. She fixed her hair and took a deep breath, before opening the door where Quinn stood, poised and smiling. She wore coal black trousers, a simple white shirt with a neckline that showed the column of her alabaster neck, and a leather jacket. “May I come in?”

Stepping aside to allow Quinn inside, Rachel took a whiff of her spicy scent. Something like mint and coffee, as if she just came from the oven, freshly-baked for Rachel to devour. She swallowed hard and fought against her increasing heart rate. “I need you for another fifteen hours.” Rachel said, her eyes never leaving Quinn’s features, as if she was the most beautiful thing she ever set her eyes on.

The blonde nodded and threw her leather briefcase on the table. “Of course.” She peeled her coat off and hung it up on the rack. Her white shirt clung to her flat frame, inspiring the heated waves of desire to crash all over Rachel. The actress stepped forward and grasped the back of Quinn’s head by the handfuls. She met her soft lips, warm and tasted faintly of spearmint. Quinn kissed back, her palms on the swell of Rachel’s hips.

Quinn fell on the couch and pulled Rachel to straddle her, lips locked and gliding against each other’s mouths. The blonde tugged at Rachel’s shirt, only to groan at the sight of her breasts. Rachel giggled and dragged her nails along the escort’s scalp in order to keep her face between her plush tits. Quinn hummed and took a nipple in her mouth, her hips rising off the couch to grind her growing erection into Rachel’s clothed core.

“Are you going to strip for me?” Quinn husked, her voice taking a guttural deepness that sent Rachel reeling. She smirked and her hips started to swirl. Rachel enjoyed the thorough attention Quinn was paying her, her eyes never leaving her features even when she unclasped the hook of her skirt and was working to pull it off of her. Swallowing hard, Rachel stood with only her panties, the lacy fabric soaked through.

Quinn tugged them off, her mouth nipping Rachel’s stomach. The actress pushed her away and shook her head. “I’m in no mood for slow. I want it rough, from behind, _anything_.” In her desperation, she shoved Quinn against the couch and took her lip between her teeth. “ _Fuck_ me, Quinn. I need it.”

“Long day at work?” She asked, with a vague tone of concern, even as she bent Rachel over on the couch, her elbows digging into the cushions. Quinn removed Rachel’s panties, groaning at the sight of her ass sticking out for her. She palmed the smoothness of her skin, licked the small of her back, and reached down to pull her erect cock out of her tight chinos. She slapped the thick, pale flesh against Rachel’s tanned ass cheek and smirked as it jiggled for her. “Spread your ass cheeks for me. I want to see my cock splitting that sexy pussy apart.”

With her cheek chafing against the couch, Rachel reached back and prised apart her ass cheeks. Quinn groaned and thrust into her slick cunt, the pad of her thumb pressing against Rachel’s puckered hole. Squirming against the escort’s thick, rutting cock, Rachel gasped and struggled to keep her cheeks apart, her arms trembling with the strain.

Quinn pounded into her, rough and just how Rachel asked her to do. She dragged her nails up the actress’ back and felt her pussy clench around her as she grasped a handful of thick brunette tresses. “Take it.” Quinn husked out, her mouth against the slope of Rachel’s shoulder. “I like seeing you like this… Gasping and shaking while I pound into your slick pussy. It can’t get enough of my big cock.” She nipped Rachel’s pulse point, eliciting a shuddering groan from the brunette’s mouth. Quinn palmed her tits and tugged at her nipples while her hips pumped into her, skin slapping against Rachel’s glistening ass.

Rachel clawed against the nape of Quinn’s neck, her head thrown back over the prostitute’s shoulder. She whimpered and pushed her ass back, her plush skin wiggling with every thrust. “I-I’m…” She managed to say in between the moans of pleasure that wracked her entire frame. Her nails dug deeper into Quinn, and she shuddered. Her back arched, her pussy gushed girl cum that dripped down Quinn’s thick, pumping meat.

Quinn allowed the actress to slump over on the couch, panting and quivering with her pussy still stuffed with cock. With a small smile, Quinn eased her rigid dick out of her soaked pussy, gasping at the sucking noise that came with the motion. She flipped Rachel over and pushed her slender legs up, until her feet were against the back support of the couch.

The actress gasped. She would never allow anyone else to spread her out like this, her pussy clenching for _something_ to fill her up once more, while her clit twitched and begged to be touched and fondled. Rachel watched Quinn stare at her pink, beaten pussy, cum trickling out of her entrance. She never felt this form of eroticism before; a mix of her cum and Quinn’s semen oozing out of her.

Leaning down, Quinn licked the folds of Rachel’s thighs. The brunette whimpered and bucked her hips, her slippery cunt nudging against Quinn’s cheek. It left a streak of their mixed cum against the escort’s skin, the hue of fresh sawdust. Her hazel eyes locked with Rachel’s fiery espresso eyes. Her tongue parting her pink lips, Quinn flicked the tip of Rachel’s clit and watched her body convulse, before latching onto her pussy, her tongue sliding deep inside her pussy to lick the actress’ quivering walls.

“Oh _god…_ ” Rachel whined, her fingers yanking at cropped corn silk locks, urging Quinn’s mouth so suck harder, and lick deeper. “ _Yes, yes, yes…_ Right _there_.” She urged, her stomach shaking, her tits heaving as she breathed raggedly. “Fuck, _Quinn!”_

The blonde hummed and pulled back slightly, her lips and Rachel’s glistening pussy connected by a line of cum and spit. She nipped the swell of the actress’ butt cheek, her tongue gliding along the crack of her ass. She paused, swirled the tip of her tongue along Rachel’s puckered asshole, while she watched her reaction. With the way Rachel was still moaning and writhing against Quinn’s mouth, the prostitute took it as a good sign, and then pushed the tip of her tongue into her anus, again and again, until the muscles loosened and she managed to slip the wet muscle inside her.

Rachel whimpered, her holes tightening around Quinn as she continued to prod and fuck her until her muscles were loose and she was a soaking, panting mess on the couch. Their combined cum had long been licked away, and fresh waves of Rachel’s clear, glossy juices were spilling out of her pussy, only to be devoured by the prostitute’s greedy mouth. “Can I fuck your ass?” Quinn asked against Rachel’s soft, blushing inner thigh, an assemblage of hickeys and bite marks adorning her tender skin.

“Oh… _Yes_!” Rachel gnawed on her bottom lip, her eyes glassy with lust and apparent need for her anal hole to be stuffed with cock—Quinn’s cock. “Do it to me, Quinn. Fuck my dirty asshole.” She pleaded, pushing back into the prostitute’s mouth, shivering whenever her tongue flicked against her puckered anus. “Fuck me with your thick cock until I’m screaming your name…”

“No need to tell me twice.” The blonde groaned. She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a bottle of lube. She slicked up Rachel’s fluttering pucker and then her fingers. She eased the tip of her finger in, watching every move Rachel made. Once Rachel whimpered and begged for more, Quinn pushed her finger in until its entire length was inside Rachel’s ass, curling and spreading the lube along her hot walls.

The only sound that lingered in Rachel’s living room were the kittenish moans and ragged breathing that came from the actress. Quinn added another finger, her mouth occupied by Rachel’s leaking pussy. She was so wet, her juices dripping down Quinn’s chin and even adding to the slickness that aided Quinn to finger fuck Rachel’s asshole with ease. Rachel was writhing and already came twice by the time Quinn deemed her anus loose enough for her thick, pulsing cock.

She stroked herself a few times and stared at the way Rachel’s tits rose and sank with every breath she took. Quinn hoped that she could last through this, at least until Rachel came. It would be difficult, Quinn knew. Especially because of the way Rachel’s hole seemed to beg for her cock the way it clenched and unfurled. Bending over, Quinn licked Rachel’s folds a few more times to get Rachel going, before positioning her rigid meat against her back entrance. “Ready, beautiful?” She asked, her mouth taking in a stiff nipple.

“I’ve been ready for half an hour.” Rachel said with a breathless chuckle. She cupped the back of Quinn’s neck and kissed her roughly, her tongue and teeth playing with the blonde’s lips. While above Rachel, Quinn struggled to bisect her attention between the rough, mind-numbing kisses, and her cock entering Rachel’s impossibly tight anus.

“Jesus…” Quinn grunted, her nails digging into the couch cushions. She was _tight_. It was not often that Quinn was allowed to put her cock in a virgin ass, and to be able to fuck Rachel like this, her muscles clamping down on her, was definitely something Quinn would be dreaming of for the weeks to come. She breathed deep, focusing on Rachel’s parted mouth and her coffee eyes swirling with lust and debauchery. “You’re so tight, you know that? It’s like…” She moistened her lips and released a slow breath. “I’m so deep inside you. It’s fucking amazing.”

Rachel dug her nails into Quinn’s back and up her neck. “You are. You’re so deep.” She breathed. “But I need you to _fuck_ me.”

Quinn nodded and pressed her forehead against Rachel’s chest. She could feel Rachel’s rapid heartbeat, fluttering inside her ribcage. As Quinn pushed deeper into her tight heat, Rachel gasped and clung tighter to her.

 _This was all it was,_ Quinn told herself. _Fucking._ She was a fool to think otherwise.

Shaking her head to rid herself of the unwanted thoughts, Quinn sank her teeth into the soft skin of Rachel’s breast and rutted into her, until she was balls deep inside Rachel’s ass. The actress wailed, her body arched. She gripped the couch cushions until Quinn was sure that she would tear holes through them. But she didn’t, and Quinn allowed herself to pull out, Rachel’s slick, anal walls contracting around her cock. She pushed back in, repeating the deep strokes that left Rachel gasping, until an impatient sound urged Quinn to _pound_ her, and make do with her promise of fucking her into the couch.

The echo of their skins, slick with sweat, filled Quinn’s ears, allowing her aural pleasures to heighten. Accompanied by Rachel’s seductive moans, her breathless pants, her soft murmurs of ‘ _yes_ ’, and _‘harder!’_ made Quinn feel things that she shouldn’t. Ever.

So she gripped Rachel’s hips tighter, fucked her into the sofa until it jerked back due to the force of her thrusts. She buried her face against Rachel’s heaving breasts and focused on anything _but_ her heartbeat, pulsing like a tender promise that Quinn so longed for. The prostitute growled. She curled her toes and sank her teeth into Rachel’s flesh, while beneath her, she writhed and screamed and came, anus clenching around Quinn while her pussy grasped around nothing, girl cum pushing out to coat Quinn’s abdomen.

“Fuck, what a dirty girl.” Quinn smirked, her tongue flattening against the valley of Rachel’s breasts, her hips pumping away. She could feel the peak of her orgasm throbbing inside her lower belly, but she gritted her teeth and continued fucking Rachel to prolong her orgasmic frenzy. “I haven’t even touched your clit… You get off on getting fucked in the ass?”

Rachel whimpered and clawed Quinn’s shoulders and arms. “ _F-fuck…_ “ Was all she managed to say, but it was good enough for Quinn. She pushed her dick until she was balls deep, and growled, her cum shooting out in torrents. Quinn felt weak, and could tell that Rachel was too, by the way she slumped, her body trembling.

Tugging the blonde by the back of her head, Rachel kissed her, tongue slipping between her lips, teeth piercing the tender flesh. “Quinn, I…” She sighed and shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

Quinn nipped Rachel’s jaw. “Tell me.”

“Tell me something about you. Anything.” Rachel asked, her breath a warm tickle against Quinn’s cheek. “It doesn’t have to be oddly personal. Just… Something like, what did you have for lunch today? Or—“

Chuckling, Quinn moved to pull out of Rachel, but she grasped her tightly. “Nooo, don’t leave. I like you in me. A-and you don’t have to answer or anything.”

“Relax.” Quinn said, tucking a lock of brown hair behind Rachel’s ear. “If I don’t pull out now when your muscles are still relaxed, it would hurt.” She eased her cock out and gasped, the sensation of Rachel’s tight walls dragging across her shaft made her tremble. Quinn cleared her throat and sat up on the couch beside Rachel. “Something about me, hm? I’m sad to say that I’m not that interesting.” She grinned, her fingertips tracing lines of sweat that coated Rachel’s stomach. “But… You know how there are some poets who say they feel too much?” Quinn waited for Rachel’s nod before continuing.

“And that’s why they write. They have this overflow. They say that if they don’t write, they would literally burst, but…” Quinn sighed and leaned back. “That’s not me. Poetry will always be this never-ending chase for feeling, only to perpetually fail.”

Rachel’s eyes swirled with something undistinguishable, and Quinn wondered what it was about her eyes that wanted her to stay. “That was unexpected.” Rachel said.

“I know.” Quinn grinned if only to make Rachel believe that it was a fact she threw around casually. “People say that often about me.” Sitting up, she made a move to gather her clothes when Rachel’s hand around her arm stopped her.

“Will you let me hear some? Of your poetry, I meant.”

It was the first time someone asked Quinn that. And after such a moment of something raw and powerful like fucking, Quinn felt powerless to deny her. As if it was the sensible thing to do; to show this woman that she was capable of doing _more_. “Sure.” Quinn said, smiling.

Rachel reflected Quinn’s smile and was about to say something when a sharp rap came from her front door. She froze, but Quinn did not. The escort stood up, calm as still water, and pulled her boxer briefs and pants up around her waist. “You should probably get that while I sneak out.” Quinn said, pulling her shirt on.

“Y-you’re not going to leave, are you?”

Quinn paused. “Not if you don’t want me to. But you should give me a place to hide.”

Shooting off the couch, Rachel hastily tugged her clothes back on before pointing towards the door to her sanctuary. “In there. Lock the door behind you.” She wiggled, the sensation of Quinn’s cum leaking out of her asshole no longer felt as pleasurable, now that she was in motion. Quinn slipped inside her haven, and she felt some sort of irony, and a recurring theme of Quinn being able to enter crevices of her life and her body that no one ever dared to before.

Fixing her hair to make her look presentable, Rachel swept through her living room to see if anything was out of place. Content, she strode to the front door and opened it. Outside stood two men. One of them was tall, and was the man that used to be the love of Rachel’s life. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Rachel mustered her sternest voice, her hands on her hips.

“Finn? What are you doing here?”

 

_today’s proverb: Love is just another dirty lie. Love is my insides all messed up. To hell with love. I’m through with you and I’m through with love. **Ernest Hemingway.**_


	6. blinking stars go blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I might not be able to update regularly for the next few days due to orientation week in university, which meant a busy week filled with exhaustion, ten-headed dragons, frustration, and crowds. I hope you all understand!

Finn rubbed the back of his neck and glanced towards the man beside him. “Um, hey Rach.” He waved, his arm limp, and straightened himself. He glanced again towards the man, and Rachel narrowed her eyes, remembering the day that she caught Finn on _their_ bed, fucking another person. She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. “Again, I ask. What are _you_ doing here?”

Flinching, the lanky man ran his fingers through his hair. “Look, I know I shouldn’t be showing my face here and stuff. Especially after you caught us…” He bit his lip and eyed the man who nodded at him as a sign of encouragement. “But I just want to apologize for what I did to you.” He locked eyes with Rachel and for a split second, she was taken back to the time when she loved Finn. Once, but no longer.

“I need to get my stuff back.” Finn continued, stepping closer slowly, so Rachel wouldn’t back away. “And I know it’s not much, but it’s all I have. And Matthew—“ He glanced at the man beside him again. “He wants to meet you.” Finn ducked his head and smiled, the side of his cheek tilting up to make his laugh lines more prominent. “Or, you know. I can just come back. That’s cool too.”

Rachel gnawed on her bottom lip. It wouldn’t take too long for Finn to retrieve his things—she already packed them in boxes. She stepped aside and allowed the two men in her home. She led them upstairs and into the guest room where no one slept in. That was where she stored the boxes, the remnants of her life with Finn. “It’s all in there.” Rachel told him.

Finn nodded. “I know.” He smiled and stood there, looking at Rachel. She had no idea what was running through his brain, but the fact that Matthew, who Rachel assumed to be Finn’s boyfriend, seemed like a good man. A great guy for Finn. He was well-dressed and a head shorter than him. He had a genuine smile, a deep voice, and a proud walk.

“I’ll leave you two to it, then.” Rachel said. Before Finn could say anything else, she stepped out of the guest room and into her bedroom. She locked the door, pressed her back against it, and stared at the beams of sunlight streaming across her neat bed. It felt so unfair to see Finn, happy with someone else, while she stood alone with an empty bed and an empty life, only nourished by the paid hours she was able to spend with Quinn.

She took a deep breath and summoned her mask of calm. She will not hide away. She will be strong in front of Finn and Matthew, maybe even offer them a snack. Exiting her bedroom, she stalked down the hallway and peered in through the crack of the door. Finn was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand clasped in Matthew’s. They were speaking in low murmurs, soft voices that were too private for Rachel’s ears.

But before she could successfully slink away once more, Matthew turned and saw her by the doorway. “Hey, Rachel.” He smiled easily and stepped back from Finn, yet their hands remained clasped. “Thanks for organizing Finn’s stuff in boxes. Our place is small, so it’s nice to not have to open the boxes we don’t really need.”

“It was nothing.” Rachel said. “I was just wondering. Do you two want snacks?”

In the kitchen, Rachel was making a pot of coffee and heating a loaf of banana bread in the toaster. Finn was telling her about his new job in a grocery store. It was not high-paying, he said. But it gives him something to do while Puck finds them gigs in dingy bars or pubs where no one goes to for the live music. And it helps with the groceries since he could get them cheaper.

Rachel watched them while she prepared the coffee in the pot. This was not the Finn she was used to. He was lighter, happier, and he often took Matthew’s hand in his as if he can’t do much without him around. She was happy for him—for them. And it was a relief to not hate Finn anymore, even after being cheated on, when it meant that at least… One of them was happy and requited in love.

Ignoring the thoughts in her head, Rachel approached the table and served the coffee and the heady scent of the warm, newly-toasted loaf of banana bread. She sat with the two of them, listening in on their domestic conversation, until Matthew turned to her. “Finn and his band are having this gig in a few weeks. You should totally come. They’ve improved since the last time.”

Rachel laughed, unable to help but feel something akin to spite, the taste of irony rich in her mouth. The last time she saw Finn and his band perform, he was still with her. She passed, mentioning that she was too busy filming to go to pubs. She noted Finn’s disappointment, and apologized. Perhaps after filming, she assured him.

Soon, Matthew got up and told them that he was going to bring the boxes down to take to the car. Finn nodded, watching him climb up the steps. “I’m over it, you know.” Rachel said. “I’m over us. I’m not the same girl back in high school who would go through hell and high water to get you back. I’ve matured, Finn.”

He smiled his handsome, boyish grin. “I know, Rach. I’m not even going to mention something like that. I just want you to forgive me. Matthew’s amazing for me.” He helped her with the dishes and leaned against the countertop. “He makes me feel things I’m not even sure actually exist. You know? Did you ever have that?”

Rachel glanced at the door that led to her office. She swallowed hard and nodded. “I have, actually.”

“Oh, good.” Finn squeezed Rachel’s shoulder tenderly and kissed her cheek. “Hold on to that guy, okay? Or girl, if you’re into that too. Since, y’know. After what happened to me.” He flushed pink and winked. With a final hug, he met Matthew by the foot of the stairs and helped him with the few boxes that held his clothes and other memorabilia.

Rachel watched them drive away. Once they turned right at the stop light, she slammed the door shut, locked it, and unlocked the door as she strode into her office. There she found Quinn, a book propped open on her lap. The blonde smiled and closed the book—Barbra Streisand’s biography—and placed it on the nearby table. “Shall I ask what happened?”

Shaking her head, Rachel kicked the door shut behind her. She ripped open her blouse, kicked off her panties and sauntered over to Quinn, whose hazel eyes were locked with hers. Her hands immediately went around Rachel’s waist once she straddled her lap. It was her. It was Quinn who showed her emotions that have yet to be labelled by humanity. Rachel grasped the back of the blonde’s neck and she sighed. All she was to Quinn was a customer.

But there was something in Quinn’s eyes. A flicker. A light at the end of the tunnel of her doubts. Rachel cupped Quinn’s jaw and suckled her bottom lip. This was a taste she could live with for the rest of her life. A warm body she could see herself waking up next to, for the next eighty years. An emotion she had yet to name.

She pulled back and took a deep breath. She was getting ahead of herself, and she knew that it was one of her faults. She always flew too far ahead, thought about the future way too soon. She shook her head, shuddered at Quinn’s mouth against her neck, and took the escort’s hands in hers to make her cup her breasts, warm and flush in her palms. Quinn looked as if she was about to speak, but Rachel’s finger against her lips made her close her mouth.

Rachel reached back to grip Quinn’s cock through her chinos. Quinn was already erect, and again, Rachel felt as if she was the most desirable woman in the planet if she could give Quinn such an erection. With help from the escort, she took her cock out and sank on her thick length. She was full again.

Her hips rolling, Rachel rode Quinn slowly. She relished her thickness, the pulsing heat of her cock, and the depth she could reach. Rachel listened to the heaviness of Quinn’s breath, the way it tickled the base of her throat. “I think,” Rachel began, her voice thick with arousal. “I need that six-month contract.” She humped Quinn faster, her pussy slick with girl cum as it slicked up the prostitute’s girth.

“I’m sure I-I can come up with something.” Quinn wheezed, her hands gripping Rachel’s ass tightly. She licked the base of Rachel’s throat, her hips rising off the couch. Quinn tightened her arms around the actress’ body and lifted her up. She kicked off her trousers and carried her to the nearest wall. Pressing her against it, Quinn met Rachel’s mouth for a kiss, her cock slamming into her pussy, slick noises filling their ears.

This was something tender. This was something new. This was something Rachel could definitely live with.

Rachel clung to Quinn, her breath coming out in soft, ragged pants against the escort’s ear. There it was again. That noun, so improper and impersonal and all Quinn should be. Yet as her orgasm dawned upon her, she felt torn between the pleasures of the flesh and the ache in her heart. The emptiness, swirling like dark mist along her ribcage. It built up a pressure in the back of her eyelids, tears, like molten lava, threatening to fall.

And so Rachel buried her face against Quinn’s neck. Her smooth, peachy skin, was warm and damp with sweat. Rachel distracted herself enough to cease the tears, while Quinn grunted and fucked her against the wall. “I’m coming. _Oh,_ I’m coming…” Rachel panted, her pussy clenching and her cum trickled out of her with each thrust of Quinn’s cock.

“Fuck, that’s it.” She pulled back and kissed Rachel, and her heart soared. For an actress, Rachel was unable to distinguish if the people around her were acting. But as Quinn’s cum pulsed inside her in thick, warm cum coating her inner walls.

They stood there, shaking, wrecked with the tremors of their shared orgasm. Rachel wrapped her arms around Quinn and struggled to breathe evenly, while the blonde approached the armchair and eased Rachel down on it. She pulled out, pressing another kiss against Rachel’s mouth. “Do you really want the six months? Because it’s a contract thing and it’s quite expensive.” Quinn laughed and rubbed Rachel’s sides. “I’m never really good at sales talks.”

Rachel chuckled and kissed Quinn’s jaw. “I can afford you, you know.” Something about the statement gnawed at her, but she ignored it and smiled.

“Alright then.” Quinn tucked her cock back in her boxers and buttoned up her pants. “Let me just go get my briefcase.” Once she returned, she sat on the floor and took out a sheaf of papers. “Here you go. It’s basically just an agreement thing so I can keep track. For six months you have me for your disposal, whenever and wherever, for as long as you want. Unless I’m with another client, I will always respond to your texts or calls as soon as possible.” She leaned back, arms propped behind her. “And it also means you pay me the twenty five grand now, and the other half later. But if you’re not content with my service, you can say so and you won’t have to pay.” Quinn smirked and shrugged. “Though to be honest, no one has done that before. But it’s there, and there’s always a first time for everything.”

Rachel slipped on an oversized shirt and nothing else as she read through the contract. True enough, everything Quinn mentioned was stated plainly, with no twisted, hidden meanings. She took a pen from her desk, and a blank cheque, which she signed with the aforementioned amount, before signing the contract itself. Rachel handed both to Quinn, and it felt as if she just signed her heart over to the slender, blonde-haired beauty sitting on her parquetted floors. Not that her heart was made of money.

Quinn got up from the floor and smoothed out her clothing. She carried Rachel, making her squeal, and with a smirk, took her to her bedroom. “You know what? You don’t have to pay me for the fifteen hours.” Quinn whispered against her neck. “Think of it as a discount.”

 

*~*~*~*

 

The following week, Rachel found herself once again, in one of the pristine conference rooms, alongside Brittany. There was a tension in the air which Rachel wanted to diffuse, but Brittany was tense. She was curt in her responses, and she shifted ever so often that by the time Elle Beasly arrived for another meeting, Rachel was fidgeting as well. “Oh good, you’re both here.” She motioned for someone outside, and in stepped one of the leads from a TV show that Rachel had no time to watch. He had a shock of licorice hair, broad shoulders, and a deep rosewood tone to his skin. “This is Steven, and he’s to be your boyfriend.”

Rachel seized up and glared at Elle Beasly. “After I clearly said that I don’t _want_ a boyfriend—“

“Oh?” Elle’s sculpted brow rose and her manicured nails—today a deep carmine—rapped the surface of the oak table. “But Brittany said you’re conceding to me.” She turned to the blonde who avoided both hers and Rachel’s gaze. “Am I wrong, Ms. Pierce?”

“You _knew_ about this?” Rachel’s nails dug deep into Brittany’s arm. “You told her I’m okay with it? Brittany, how could you?!”

Wrenching free from Rachel’s tight grip, Brittany locked their eyes together. What Rachel always associated with the warm ocean breeze now reminded her of the arctic, cold and craggy, like an iceberg. “I’m doing this as your friend.” Brittany insisted. “I’m doing this for you. Your career. Remember what you told me; what you made me promise you? That I would do anything to further your career. You made me _say_ that, Rachel. So don’t blame this on me.” She shot out of her seat and disappeared into the elevator, leaving a stunned Rachel.

It was true. She made her say those things back when Rachel was struggling with her first official stage role. She needed the stage and it was through Brittany that she would be able to achieve her goals of stark bright lights and neon signs that bore her name. And now, she felt as if her heart was caving in. She was surrounded by the real enemies: Elle Beasly and this Steven.”

Elle motioned for Steven to sit down by Rachel. “I will leave you two to get acquainted. One of you should at least make an effort.” Her eyes were trained onto Rachel. “Trust me, Miss Berry. I’ve been in this business far longer than you have, and this is a wise course to take.”

Once she left, Rachel allowed herself to fully look at Steven. He had a naturally-smiling face, pearly-white teeth like polished tombstones, and a leathery scent. “I know I’m not an ideal.” He said, his voice a rich baritone. “But we need this, Miss Berry—can I call you Rachel?”

Nodding, Rachel crossed her legs and her arms. “Let’s at least be friends.” Steven offered. “Don’t let this PR thing get to you. I promise I won’t be a clingy boyfriend or anything.” He laughed, wheedling a chuckle from Rachel. “See? That smile is gorgeous.”

After a few minutes of easy conversation, Rachel found herself appreciating Steven’s humour, and the warmth he seemed to emanate. She didn’t mind being around him, even thought of him as a friend in the dreary world of fame and show business. And when Steven asked her if she would accompany him for coffee, Rachel accepted. She knew that this was one of the multitude of tests she would have to go through for the sake of her acting career. She needed to grovel before Brittany for her forgiveness.

They stepped out of the elevator and Steven offered his arm to Rachel. She looped her arms around his bicep and clutched him tightly. Outside, at the other end of the glass walls, the paparazzi waited. Rachel took a deep breath, feigned a smile, and nodded up at Steven. Together, they walked into the thrall.

Show time.

 

*~*~*~*

 

New York had fallen victim to a few casual snow storms that only inhibited traffic for a few hours. Quinn stepped over a patch of black ice and almost got in the way of a snow tractor that was heaping mounds of snow along the side of the buildings. The cold nips at her cheeks, and Quinn pulled her scarf tighter around her neck. She just finished with a client, and her legs were still numb as she strode down the sidewalk to head back to her apartment for a warm bath and to finish off the fifth of scotch she had tucked in her liquor cabinet.

They’ve both been occupied, Quinn and Rachel both, but it had no impact on how often Rachel texted her to visit her in her brownstone. Once, Quinn came over and saw Rachel, sprawled naked on her couch. Often, Rachel thought about giving Quinn her own key, but the escort was always against it. It felt too personal; too familiar, like she was a girlfriend, and she didn’t want that false hope clinging to her like it was her salvation.

Passing by a news stand, Quinn glimpsed something that caught her eye. Quinn read the headline and her heart squeezed itself in her ribcage. The air was knocked out of her, and her vision dimmed for half a second before she managed to catch herself. She took deep breaths, her lungs seizing as it was filled with frosty air that burned her throat. The headline read:

_‘Rising star Rachel Berry seen out and about with her beau, Steven Morgan.’_

Confusion welled up in Quinn’s chest like a spring. They were client and customer, not a pair of lovers that were against the odds due to Rachel’s fame and Quinn’s line of work. No, no. They can never be such. Still, she stared at the photograph. Rachel smiling, her arm around the boyfriend. He had to be fake, Quinn thought, her teeth bared.

“Listen, pal. If you’re not gonna buy that magazine, will you stop glaring at it? You might set it on fire.” The proprietor of the news stand drawled, a cigarette jutting out between his lips. “It’s five bucks, just in case you make up your mind within the decade.”

Quinn slapped the money in the man’s hand and went off with the supposed entertainment magazine. She had no idea why she purchased it. What was she going to do, use the photograph to curse this Steven Morgan into the fiery depths of hell in exchange for her soul? Impossible. For one, she sold her soul a long time ago. And he seemed like a good guy. Stable, strong, and not too tall for Rachel. Quinn swallowed hard and glanced up at the bright winter sun that beat down on her skin. Yet she felt cold.

She arrived at her apartment and stripped herself down to nothing but her boxers. The frost clung to her skin like a leech, slimy, her thighs thawing as she did a few jumping jacks. While the tub was filling up with steaming water, Quinn glanced at the tabloid tube filled with lies and stories about people who lie for a living.

Unsure on whether she should read it, Quinn took it with her to the bath along with one of her favourite books. She placed these things on a small desk, along with her phone, just in case someone called. Quinn sank into the heated water and moaned as fire lapped her skin, melting away at her worries for half a minute.

Quinn reached for the tabloid magazine when her phone rang. “Hello?”

“Yeah, hey Quinn. You’re going to Speakeasy, right? Because we’re lacking a poet and you haven’t been on the stage for months, dude. What’s up with that?”

Rubbing her temples, Quinn glanced at the caller ID. It was one of the organizers for the poetry event she tried to frequent but could not, due to the onslaught of work. “Sorry, Taylor. I’ll be there next week. You can count on it.”

Quinn finished her bath and rose out of the tub, towel-dried herself, and went to her room. The tabloid, soaked and soggy, lay forgotten.

She would never be sad about this.

 

 _today’s proverb: The first time your heart was torn from your chest, you thought you were dying. You knew you could not live with the empty space. So you replaced your heart with metaphors and set out to create a world where the metaphor was unbreakable._ **_Mindy Nettifee._**


	7. batter my heart

Hectic could not begin to describe the past few months for Rachel. From the moment she woke to the moment her back hit the bed, she was moving, going places, talking to people, smiling, filming, and pretending. She finally reconciled with Brittany, and found a friend in her faux boyfriend who was going through the exact same things she was. It gave Rachel two crutches that kept her going as she raged through the filming of her movie and the events related to it.

The end of the week was stark and clear and Rachel’s heart was filled with yearning. After weeks of packed scheduling, she had a day off. Just one, and she’s back into the fray, but she vowed to herself that she would make the most out of that day off. Which was why she already booked an appointment with Quinn.

If Rachel was being truthful, there were days where her mind would slip and she would think about the blonde again, her lean body pressed against hers as she rocked her body into another screaming orgasm. Quinn had what Rachel needed; something that she couldn’t seem to get anywhere else without feeling guilty. Sure, Steven was a great man, but he wasn’t boyfriend material. Rachel supposed that no one is. Her heart was still set on Quinn.

She had yet to tell Brittany about any of this, which was all well and good, since she already knew her manager’s stance regarding her affections for Quinn. Them being moronic and superfluous, like a teenager’s supposed bright idea. Though her reasons were unknown, Brittany was persistent regarding this fact: Quinn was, in any way, not a good match for Rachel Berry.

Friday dawned, and as soon as Rachel woke up, her body was ready and roaring to go. She got up, ate a simple breakfast of vegan crepes and peach slices, brushed her teeth and had a short workout. By the time she was finished, Delilah was knocking against her door, ready to clean her home, which she did efficiently and just the way Rachel expected her to.

And as soon as Delilah was gone, as soon as the spoor of cleaning detergent and soap dissipated into the air thanks to the vents and Rachel’s scented candles, Rachel texted Quinn and told her that she was free to come over at any given time. Within the hour, Quinn was knocking, and Rachel was pulling her in. Behind Quinn, Rachel shoved at the door. There was no click of the lock, but she paid it no mind.

“I need it,” Rachel gasped out, her fingers fumbling with Quinn’s belt buckle. “Quinn, _please_. I haven’t had sex in days.”

“Your boyfriend not doing it for you?” The prostitute asked as they stumbled along the foyer, her lips against Rachel’s pulse point. Her question raised a brow and brought a cessation to their clumsy attempt at getting each other naked. “Excuse me?” Rachel demanded.

“Nothing,” Quinn assured her, effective only because her palms roamed Rachel’s ass and hiked her up Quinn’s leg. She carried her onto the couch, where she knelt and removed the buttons of her shirt, one by one. Rachel’s chest rose and fell, her eyes raking along the champagne skin of Quinn’s abs, the colour she longed to drink in. Rachel unclasped the button of Quinn’s trousers, reached her hand in, and moaned. Her cock, hard as granite, pulsing and warm against her hand.

“I missed your cock.” Rachel husked, an attempt to be seductive. Which seemed odd. Was she not the one who pays to be seduced? It was ridiculous, of course. Rachel never had to pay to be seduced by Quinn. One look, and she was mush.

The blonde, however, did not miss a beat. “I’m sure you did.” She smirked, cool fingers trailing up Rachel’s soft thigh. Her pale skin felt cold due to the below freezing weather from which she just came from, but not her cock. Quinn’s cock was hard and hot and rearing to go, to slip inside Rachel’s warm crevice, where it belonged. Thrusting up into the actress’ hand, Quinn rid her of her skirt and panties, and sucked a nipple into her mouth.

She rolled it between her lips and flicked it with her tongue until it was stiff and Rachel was groaning, her fingers entangled in blonde hair. Her pants and boxers, now around her knees, allowed Rachel to stroke her cock. The brunette loved it, loved stroking it until she was sure that it couldn’t possibly get any harder. The veins, the ridges, the tip that oozed clear droplets of precum… All of it, Rachel loved. “I want you in my mouth.” She gasped out, as Quinn buried her face between her legs, nibbling and sucking the slickness that trickled out of her pussy, which seemed counterproductive as it only served to produce more girl cum. More for Quinn to lick.

Quinn pulled back and smirked. “Yeah? You want my big cock filling up your mouth?” She sat up on the couch as Rachel scrambled into position. She ran her thumb along Rachel’s bottom lip. “Open up, nice and wide. That’s it…” Quinn murmured. She grasped the base of her cock and tapped the tip against Rachel’s cheek. Her cock sank into Rachel’s waiting mouth, and she threw her head back at the sensation.

“Fuck… Your mouth is insane. You suck my dick so well, Rachel.” Quinn was oddly vocal today, but Rachel was definitely not complaining. She pushed Quinn’s cockhead inside the softness of her inner cheek and the blonde above her grunted and thumbed the shape of her cock against Rachel’s mouth. Her tongue flicked Quinn’s slit, making her hips stutter and her ass flex against the actress’ hand. Quinn grunted, pulling her cock back and stroking herself slowly. “Easy. You’re going to make me come early with a tongue like that.”

Rachel beamed and nipped Quinn’s inner thigh. It was always a boost for her self-esteem to be the cause of Quinn’s early arrival. She watched the escort stave off her orgasm by fisting her slick cock. She sat down on the couch, her pants still pooled at her feet. Rachel rose off the floor and straddled Quinn’s lap, the head of her meat bumping against her stiff clit.

Without preamble, Quinn positioned her cock against Rachel’s entrance and she sank down on it greedily, a gasp and a moan erupting from her lips. Rachel trembled and clung to Quinn. “Oh god, being filled to the brim with your cock… I love it.” She whimpered against the prostitute’s mouth, while beneath her, Quinn squirmed, hips rising in shallow undulations, her girth coated with the abundance of Rachel’s cum.

“I know you do. I can feel your pussy.” Quinn grinned and nuzzled the valley of Rachel’s tits, mouthing at her nipples until they were stiff and grazing her cheek. “It’s milking me like it doesn’t want my dick to leave you.” She hummed and gripped Rachel tighter to her body. Quinn rutted up into her pussy, her slickness dripping down to her balls and coating her thighs. “I’m the only one who can make you feel like this, Rachel.” Quinn’s voice dropped into a low, rough murmur against the softness of Rachel’s breasts.

The actress felt something deep, and it wasn’t just Quinn’s cock thrusting in and out of her slick heat. She heard it in Quinn’s tone. The greediness. The selfishness. The way she clung to Rachel and pounded into her, their slick skins slapping in an erotic rhythm that made Rachel shiver. Her fists tightened into Quinn’s hair and she rolled her hips, allowing Quinn’s thick meat to graze her sensitive walls, making her twitch. She wanted to come, and she could feel it brewing in her lower belly, like a tidal wave.

Quinn gripped Rachel’s ass tighter and craned her neck for a kiss. Their lips brushed, and Rachel clenched. She wouldn’t stop shaking as she came with a breathless cry. Underneath her, Quinn increased the roughness of her pace. She pushed off the couch and flipped them over so that she was pounding in and out of Rachel until her hips froze and cum pulsed out of her cock. She lay panting on top of Rachel, her dick softening, her lips wandering across Rachel’s breasts.

So entranced were they with each other, and so exhausted by their activities that they barely heard the door open. They did, however, heard the angry footsteps that echoed throughput the din of Rachel’s home. _“_ Get off of her! _Now!_ ”

Quinn pulled apart from Rachel but not before kissing her forehead. She pulled her boxers and pants up around her hips and Rachel looked over Quinn’s shoulder to see a crowd of people in her home, led by Elle and followed by Steven, and Delilah. The housekeeper looked embarrassed, averting Rachel’s eyes as much as possible. Quinn stood in between Rachel’s nakedness and the crowd, who seemed to stare at the actress in disbelief, save for Elle. “Who are you people?” Quinn asked, calm as a spring breeze rustling through the leaves of trees. She stood up and threw a blanket over Rachel’s body.

“That is none of your business.” Elle snarled, haughty in her high heels. Her hands were on her hips, and as Rachel managed to compose herself, the publicist scowled at Quinn, as if she smelled like something died. Which, Rachel could attest to the fact that Quinn smelled anything but. She smelled like sweat and sex and frosty pines and mint. To see anyone, especially that cow Elle Beasly scowling at Quinn, should be put to jail. “You,” she pointed at the blonde. “Need to get out of here before I call the authorities.”

Rachel gritted her teeth. “And who are you to kick her out?” She demanded. “If anything, I should be the one to call the police and have them take you away for breaking and entering!” Rage devoured her insides like a disease, and it was taking every ounce of her will power to not lunge at her auburn hair and plastic face so she could tear her apart, inch by loathsome inch. “What I do in my spare time is none of your business! You are simply a publicist, and you have no right to lord over my private life the way you’re doing now!”

Elle Beasly scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you once and I’ll tell you again. _I know better than you_.” She then eyed Quinn with disgust. “What are you still doing here? Don’t you know that Rachel will always be better than you? Seeing as what you do is absolute filth.” She spat and snapped her fingers. Two men the size of houses stepped inside Rachel’s house. “Or else you will be forced out of the premises.”

With a raised brow, Quinn copied her stance, despite her wrinkled attire and half-buttoned jeans. She stood firm and tall, and Rachel was unable to help the way she admired Quinn. “No.” The blonde stated. “You can’t make me. I’m here because Rachel invited me, unlike you.” Her eyes trailed from Elle to Delilah, to the two beefy guys and finally, to Steven. “Rachel doesn’t need any of you. She gets by on pure talent. She doesn’t need a boytoy to help her achieve greatness because she’s great on her own. So you need to leave.”

The laughter that came from Elle was definitely unexpected, and Rachel’s expression showed it. “For the past few weeks, Rachel has been the cover girl of every other tabloid. And it’s all thanks to Steven. Do you think people care if she’s pure talent if they don’t see her with a man? You know nothing, _whore_.”

“Shut up!” Rachel hissed. She was finally fully-clothed, her fury refusing to subside. “Don’t call Quinn that!”

“Relax,” Quinn smiled. “I _am_ a whore. There’s no use denying it.” She turned back to Elle, though her eyes were still on Steven. He had his hands in his pockets and he fidgeted, as if he was trying to stay out of Quinn’s sight. Though it was difficult to do for a man his size. “I don’t fucking care what any of you think about me. All I care about is Rachel. I care about making her feel good.” Rachel bit her lip and reached for Quinn’s hand. Their palms met and their fingers closed around each other’s’. The actress swallowed hard, warmth spreading from her hand throughout her body. Was it possible that Quinn… felt something more for her?

“I don’t care. Spout out your nonsense somewhere else.” Elle reached into her purse and held out a document. “This is a restraining order. If you don’t leave in… let’s say twenty minutes, this will officially take effect. You are not allowed to be within a hundred feet of Rachel. And trust me, disobey this and you will be taken care of. Appropriately.” She glanced meaningfully towards the two bodyguards.

“You can’t make me sign that.” Rachel hissed. “It won’t take effect unless I sign it!”

Chuckling, the publicist shook her head. “Indeed. But I can persuade the judge that you are out of your mind. A standard case of Stockholm syndrome. You can make this easy for all of us,” Elle leered at Quinn with a smirk. “And just disappear.”

Rachel’s hand tightened around Quinn’s. She refused to let her go. Especially not now, when she felt closer to Quinn, more than ever. “If this is about money,” Elle continued. “You’ll be properly compensated, I assure you.”

The blonde shook her head. “It’s not about money. You can keep your paltry dollars.” She turned to Rachel, hazel eyes burning with sincerity. It had been awhile since Rachel had someone look at her in the same way Quinn was doing now. “I’ll go. You’ll be okay. You’re stronger than all of them combined.” She whispered, her soft, full lips brushing the actress’ mouth, like butterfly wings. It felt as if it would last forever, but Quinn was fixing her clothes and picking up her briefcase by the time Rachel came to her senses.

Rachel watched Quinn’s back. The starkness of her crimson shirt would remain in her mind’s eye for weeks to come. “Quinn, _no!”_ She wailed. She was beyond need. She was beyond desperation. She wouldn’t be able to breathe if Quinn walked out of that door. Rachel shot off the couch and reached for Quinn, but she was stopped by the two guards. “Quinn!” She cried out, her fists beating down against the men’s chests. “Don’t leave me! Don’t, don’t, _don’t…_ ”

She was crying, Rachel realized. Her heart felt deflated, and so did her entire body, as she shook with sobs that she refused to release. She was soaking her supposed guardians’ Armani suits with her salty tears. _I don’t care_ , she thought. _Let the tracks of my tears remind them of how they stole the only person who can make me smile._

*~*~*~*

On the other side of Rachel’s door, Quinn stood. She could hear Rachel’s sobs, and it felt as if the ground beneath her feet was crumbling. She was a ticking time bomb and she knew it. Quinn took a languorous breath and lifted her feet, taking one step at a time. The winter gusts chilled her body, numbing her legs and arms. Yet it wasn’t enough to prevent her heart from pumping hot blood. All she wanted was her lungs to stop working. But one can’t always get what one wants.

She took her phone out and dialed Brittany’s number. “Britt, I’m coming over, whether you like it or not. I need to talk to you.”

*~*~*~*

Back in Rachel’s house, the actress continued to sob. Turning towards Elle, Rachel clenched her fists. She wanted to drag her nails along that smug, smiling face. “Are you happy now? You wanted this to happen. You wanted to ruin me so I would do anything you want.” She laughed, bitter and full of spite. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

Elle shrugged and tossed the sheaf of restraining orders on Rachel’s coffee table. “I’m not interested in a puppet. Wipe your eyes, for goodness’ sake. Quinn is a prostitute, Rachel. Remember that. If you think that she makes you feel good and special, just ask her how many clients she’s had. I bet you she makes them feel the same was you do. It’s her _job_. That’s what you pay her for.”

She fixed her blazer and looked at Rachel one more time. “Remember. Contact Quinn again and I’ll send her to prison.” Elle snarled one final time before she turned to leave. Followed by the silent Delilah and the two guards, she left Rachel and Steven alone. “Don’t.” Rachel warned, collapsing on the couch like a boneless heap. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”

Steven nodded and went into her kitchen. Rachel closed her eyes and thought about everything _but_ Quinn. But she remained in her senses like a plague, like a love song stuck in her head. She sighed and opened her eyes, the scent of chocolate filling her home. Steven returned from the kitchen with a teacup and saucer of deep amber liquid. “Chocolate.” He murmured. “It helps, I promise.” Steven sat on one of the armchairs and spread out his palms on his lap. “Look, I know we’re meant to be in a fake relationship. But I just want to tell you that I’m not faking a friendship with you.”

Rachel sipped the warm concoction and sniffled. “And you know what friends do, right?” Steven smiled in assurance. “I’ll find a way for you to see Quinn again, Rachel. I promise you that.”

*~*~*~*

Quinn pounded her fists against the doorframe of Brittany’s condominium, her breath coming out in ragged gasps, snow melting on her hair and coat and eyelashes. She banged again, her forehead resting against her arm as she waited impatiently. Quinn raised her fist to knock once more, only for Santana to yank the door open. “What?” She hissed, wearing nothing but a fluffy robe around her body.

“I need to talk to your girlfriend.” Quinn said, pushing her way through. She dumped her boots on the rack so she wouldn’t track mud all over their floors. “Is she in there?” Quinn asked, pointing towards the closed door of their bedroom.

“Yeah, but don’t you dare walk in there, Fabray—what am I saying? Go the fuck ahead, since you don’t care about anything I say.” Santana huffed. At that, Quinn turned around and kissed her lightly on her lips, before taking her hand and half-dragging her into their bedroom, where Brittany was on the bed, naked and gasping for air. “Look what I found.” Santana said, jerking her thumb towards Quinn.

“Hi, Quinn. It’s been awhile.” Brittany’s smile was droopy, and her movements were sluggish.

“Hello to you too. I need to talk to you about Rachel.” Quinn said, coat thrown on the arm chair, her arms crossed over her chest. “I just came back from her place and do you know why I’m here now instead of in her bed?” Quinn raised her brow and watched Brittany sit up straighter. “Her publicist, that red-headed lady with talons like a fucking vulture? Yeah, she broke into Rachel’s house.”

After a colourful retelling of what happened just a few hours ago, Brittany immediately got dressed and started pacing all over her apartment. “That’s not good, Quinn. This means that Elle has blackmail material for Rachel. Now she has to do whatever the fuck that lady wants or she would ruin her career.” She chewed her bottom lip and glared at the blonde who was sitting on the arm chair, having a drink. “Why aren’t you worried?! There’s a chance that you will ruin Rachel’s career!”

Quinn sighed as she placed the lowball glass on the coffee table. “Yes, well. She most definitely ruined my life. She makes me think about quitting my day job. She makes me lie through sleepless nights, hugging a pillow while I wish that it was her.” She shot up, her pent-up emotion throbbing inside her chest, the pressure building up like a volcano preparing to erupt. “Rachel haunts me like a ghost, Brittany. A ghost I want to live with for the rest of my days. Call me stupid.” She growled, her fists pale and clenched against her sides. “And I willingly accept that. I am. I’m a fool. You’ve always known that. But I can’t change that.”

She collapsed on the armchair and buried her face in her hands. She won’t cry. She promised herself she wouldn’t, but fire was searing the back of her eyes and it _hurt_. “I’ve never felt like this before. I used to think that I’m immune; that I can’t… f-fall in love so easily like it was breathing. But Rachel makes it _so_ easy.” Quinn weakened, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her untold truths. She shook her head as if to clear it. Her hazel eyes locked with Brittany’s clear blue ones, while Santana busied herself with playing with Quinn’s hair.

“But now that you’ve felt like this, you don’t want to stop.” Brittany said in a low whisper. She sat on the coffee table and gripped Quinn’s hand. “I told Rachel that she can’t fall in love with you because you can’t fall in love with her. I’m wrong, I know that now.” She cupped Quinn’s jaw and kissed her. It was an act of friendship, more than anything else. And as Quinn kissed back, she felt a tightening in her gut. Kissing anyone used to be easy, but now, she was not too sure. For when she closed her eyes, all she could ever long for was Rachel’s lips, her mouth and her sighs against her cheek.

She pulled back and cleared her throat. “I can’t see her anymore.” Quinn whispered, her fists trembling against her sides. Her hazel eyes, usually so stark and so ferocious, held a dull light at the thought of not being able to caress Rachel’s skin, or hear her talk in soft murmurs against Quinn’s pale collarbone. “Tell her…” The prostitute’s voice cracked. “Tell her I’m sorry.”

 

 

_today’s proverb: Love, for you, is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s terrifying. No one will ever want to sleep with you. **Richard Siken.**_


	8. not romantic

When her eyes opened that morning, Quinn woke up weary and wanting to die.

Beside her, her phone blared out her schedule for the day. At ten, she had to make her way downtown to the Marriott Hotel to meet one client, and then another, at two. Already, Quinn was already exhausted at the idea of having to fuck two women that held no similarities to the woman she had been dreaming about for the past few days. Still, work was work. Quinn made her way to the kitchen, turned on the kettle, and grabbed the bag of coffee beans. As if on autopilot, Quinn made herself a cup of coffee and nibbled on a fresh peach while she sat on her breakfast table overlooking Manhattan.

After a thorough shower, Quinn dressed herself in a dress shirt that hugged her slender curves and accentuated the muscles of her arms. She slipped on her leather ankle-high boots and her ash grey peacoat and was out of her apartment by nine o’clock. The sun was bright, and the snow that fell last night glittered and sparkled. Slush covered the roads, and snowplows caused much of the traffic that Quinn passed by on her way to the subway.

By nine forty five, she was shaking off her boots of any snow that encrusted it. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and when she received the text message from her client, Quinn headed to the fourth floor and to the third room to her left. Knocking, the door immediately opened and a smile adorned her face. “Miss Luzia.”

The dark-haired woman smiled and yanked Quinn inside her hotel room. The blinds were drawn, candlelight flickered across the off-white walls, and there was a bottle of pinot noir chilled inside a bucket of ice. Quinn shrugged off her coat and hung it up on one of the brass hooks by the door. She eyed her client up and down, drinking in the sight of her curves that threatened to spill out of her tight negligee. With her cuffs rolled up to her elbows, Quinn kicked off her boots to the side and took a step towards Luzia.

In her hand is a wine glass, filled halfway. Burgundy liquid swirled in the crystal glass seduced Quinn. Deft fingers flicked open the button of her crisp shirt, exposing her pale throat. Luzia placed the glass on the end table and sat down on the queen-sized bed.

No one spoke, and the air in the hotel room hung heavy with something Quinn was familiar with. Yet with what happened with Rachel, something was _different_. Like the sun still rose up in the sky but no longer from the east. Like the earth still rotated on axis, but on the other way around. Quinn cleared her throat and reduced the distance from her body with Luzia’s. She planted her knee on the bed against the woman’s hip, her breath tickling the client’s tanned cheek. “Well, well, Quinn.” Luzia’s dulcet tones reminded Quinn of the first night she spent with the gorgeous, dark-skinned woman. It was in the middle of summer, New York’s heat at its peak.

Luzia called her on her phone, urgency in her voice. Since Quinn was free when she received the phone call, she thought, why not? Luzia sounded wealthy with her clipped consonants and no nonsense resolve. Quinn They met in the same hotel, but there were no candles lit. The air-conditioning was in full blast, and Luzia was wearing absolutely nothing but the skin she was born in.

It made for the best first impressions Quinn ever had.

Since then, Luzia became one of Quinn’s best customers. A woman who knew when to ask questions, and knew the right way to tug Quinn’s blonde hair to encourage her to go _harder_ , _faster_ , and _deeper_. She taught Quinn that the business of pleasure was a rigorous one. Luzia taught Quinn many of the things she knew now, and because of that, Quinn offered a discount.

Which Luzia denied. After all, she said. She had the money to buy herself another small island off the coast of the Caribbean. She can most certainly pay Quinn’s exorbitant rates.

At the moment, with flurries of snow coating New York City’s streets, drivers honking and swearing at every turn, Quinn forced herself to focus on the task at hand. She did not allow herself to be distracted by the past—any part of it, whether it be the recent past or that of long ago. She traced the lines of Luzia’s lips with her eyes, her hands working on removing her negligee off her body.

But a firm hand squeezed Quinn’s shoulder, bidding her to pause. “You are troubled,” Luzia murmured, sitting up to lean against the headboard, distancing herself from Quinn. “Sit down for a moment. Talk to me.”

Quinn dragged her fingers through her blonde locks and shook her head. “Didn’t you say yourself that this business has no room for my personal life?” She sat on the edge of the bed, her elbows digging into her knees. “That’s my problem. I let my guard down and now I’m in this mess.” Quinn sucked in a sharp breath, her eyelids closing tight. She wished it was this easy to close her heart. But now that it had been opened, it was a gaping hole in her chest, allowing everyone inside it.

The lights from the candle painted Quinn’s and Luzia’s skin with a tint of orange. The clock continued to tick, and Luzia’s fingers began to trace indecipherable shapes along Quinn’s upper back. “Talking helps,” whispered Luzia. “I assure you, Quinn, that nothing you say will change the way I view you. You are a friend first, a lover second.” She paused. “I take that back. I remember you fucking me into the bed before we even introduced ourselves.”

Quinn laughed and scooted back to sit beside Luzia. The older woman handed Quinn a glass of red and both took a delicate sip. “How big is this problem of yours anyway?”

“One of the most colossal problems I’ve ever had.” Quinn told Luzia. “You see, I have fallen in love.”

Almond-shaped eyes widened in astonishment. “Oh? That _is_ indeed a massive problem. My condolences, Quinn.”

“Thanks.” Quinn offered Luzia a small half-smile. “I’m glad you understand. The worst part is that she’s a client.”

Luzia held up a hand. “Please, Quinn. No more. I’m afraid I cannot return your affections.” She smiled, a playful glint dancing in her copper eyes. Quinn chuckled and sipped her wine. “I do not know how you plan on tackling this issue. You are not one to run away from your problems, after all.” Luzia eyed Quinn pointedly, to which she merely responded with a shrug. “This is something you can’t run away from, Quinn.”

“I know,” Quinn murmured. The lines of her palm seemed deeper somehow—more defined. The back of her head bumped against the lacquered headboard and she sighed. “I’m not running away. I’m not running. I’m swimming and Rachel is the bottom of the ocean I’m drowning in.”

“Rachel, huh?” Luzia refilled Quinn’s glass but set aside hers. She sat between Quinn’s legs and rubbed her palm against her jaw. “She’d be a fool not to love you back, especially with the way you physically make her feel.” Quinn chuckled, leaning into Luzia’s touch. “Though I don’t mean that that’s all you can do. I’m sure you are a romantic as well.”

Scoffing, Quinn shifted away to pace the length of the hotel room. The soft carpet was flush against her socked feet. She felt warm, probably from the wine, so she rubbed her heated cheeks. “I’m not a romantic.” Quinn insisted. “I’m anything but. Prostitutes can’t be romantic.” She faced Luzia, her knees bumping the foot of the bed. “I fuck people for a living, Luzia. How can anyone possibly think it would be a good idea to be with me?”

Luzia sighed and took a swig straight from the wine bottle. “Porn stars date each other, and some don’t and yet they fuck people for a living. It’s about communication. Do you think this Rachel is okay for you to fuck women day in and day out?”

Quinn slumped on the vacant arm chair. “I don’t think I can do that.” She said in a tone that sounded as if she was being strangled from the inside out. “I get that people have open relationships like what you’re saying, but… As a person, I can only ever be with one person—with Rachel—and no one else at a time. It makes my stomach hurt just at the thought of it.” She looked up, the emotion in her eyes were dazzling and laced with the lack of knowledge on what to do.

“Yet you say you’re not romantic.” Luzia smiled and walked over to the small fridge where she took out another bottle of wine—merlot this time. “The fact that you can’t see yourself with anyone else while in a theoretical relationship, even as far as to say that you feel sick at the thought of it sounds like a romantic notion to me.”

Luzia refilled their glasses with a practiced twist of her wrist. Quinn eyed the glass but hesitated in taking it. In the end, she cupped the bowl of the wine glass and swirled the liquid around. The burn of every mouthful of wine was something Quinn had yet to get used to, which was why she preferred cocktails, or scotch. Still, it seemed to be a favourite among women like Luzia. “I’m not a romantic.”

“If you say so.”

* * *

Quinn would never admit that she was relieved that Luzia did not force her into sex. She understood that to simply be in love with someone was already enough for Quinn to feel the guilt, so Luzia let her off with a kiss on the cheek. However, Quinn was sure that her next client would not be so understanding.

She walked down the cold streets into the closest bar slash restaurant that she knew of. It was already bustling, despite it only being ten in the morning. Quinn took a booth by the corner with a full view of the restaurant, as well as the television mounted up on the red brick walls.

A server approached her with a menu. As Quinn perused it, she asked for a cup of coffee—black with one sugar. She eventually decided on a baby beets mixed with sliced pear and goat cheese, as well as a grilled pesto and feta cheese sandwich on focaccia bread.

The establishment was definitely homey, and Quinn appreciated the rich scents of coffee and cheese and toasting bread. Quinn drew out her pocket journal from the inside of her coat and her pen. Flipping to a new page, she hummed a soft tune to herself as she thought about Rachel.

When her food arrived, Quinn already filled up two pages of nonsensical scribbling, and she showed no intention of stopping. It wasn’t until she heard the clearing of a throat that she looked up and saw a man she was most definitely familiar with.

“What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“Relax,” Taylor grinned and waved to the server who scurried to their table with a cup of coffee. “I was just passing by. I just came back from a meeting.” He waved it away and took a sip of his drink. “You said you were attending Speakesy but I didn’t see you there. What happened?”

Quinn sighed. “I wasn’t in the mood.”

Taylor raised a brow. “Since when did you have to be in a mood to attend a spoken word event? We have moods covered there, Quinn. Come on, you’re a pro.”

“Not anymore.” Quinn closed her journal and picked up her fork. The goat cheese felt rich yet light on her tongue, and the beets were sweet and warm. “I haven’t written poetry in ages.”

“Oh yeah?” Taylor scratched his cheek. “Since you haven’t been writing, how about you edit for me? I’m making a poetry magazine and it’s up on Kickstarter. It’s getting pretty popular. You’ll even get paid. Not as much as you make with your job, but still.”

Quinn looked at Taylor for a few moments before shrugging. “I’ll think about it.”

Sighing, Taylor placed his empty cup on the saucer. “You can only fuck for a living for so long, Quinn. For a romantic poet, it’s actually pretty weird that this is your day job.”

“Yes, well.” Quinn picked up her sandwich, cut into two triangles, and took a bite. “I’d like to think I’m one of those people that don’t have to live it to know it. Like fantasy writers and ghost writers.”

“On the contrary,” Taylor swigged his glass just as the server placed a burger in front of him. “I think you just want love so damn much that it’s as if you’ve lived through it already.” He doused his burger in hot sauce and began to eat. “You’re a modern romantic poet, Quinn. Accept it.”

It was the second time that she had been called romantic in one day and it wasn’t flying with Quinn. “I’m not romantic.” It was a feeble argument, she knew, but it was the best she could come up with in such short notice.

“The very notion of poetry is romantic in and of itself.” Taylor said, his brow raised and his hands locked before him. “You look at things and you see something that isn’t there. You look at a sunset and you see all the lives you have not lived. You look at your empty bed and you see your soul. This is more than a metaphor, Quinn.” Taylor smiled and Quinn avoided his gaze by drinking the rest of her coffee. “To you, every experience is an opportunity to feel something—and every emotion is something to write about. Am I right?”

Quinn shook her head. “Not this time, Taylor. She’s beyond my words.”

“Oh, it’s about a girl, is it?” Taylor thanked the server as she came to fill up their empty coffee cups. “And no one is above words. That’s all we are. Besides, writers write about those who inspire us. You just haven’t been thinking hard enough.”

Quinn took out a few bills and placed it on the table while Taylor did the same. They stood and walked out into the welcoming cold that breezed past their cheeks. Taylor bid Quinn farewell as he walked towards the subway station, while she made her way towards the mall where she thought she’d kill some time before she would have to meet her next client.

* * *

The elevators eased open and Quinn stepped into a well-lit office space with employees milling about. Her client was located in the corner office, with double oak doors barring Quinn’s way to her. Good thing that her secretary was familiar with Quinn, and was allowed in without comment.

Quinn strode in, removed her coat, and was shoved against the hard surface of her client’s desk. With a grunt, Quinn watched Juliana rip apart the snap buttons of her silk shirt and her nails claw at her belt buckle. Quinn’s body reacted the way it was seasoned to—her cock stiffened against her lower stomach, but her lungs ached with guilt. Still, work was work.

Grasping Juliana by her waist, Quinn flipped their positions around. She immediately wrapped her olive skinned legs around Quinn’s waist, her fingers burying in her blonde locks. Quinn growled and devoured her mouth. In the back of her mind, she noted that her lips were not as sweet, nor her tongue was not as demanding, so unlike Rachel’s.

The thought jerked Quinn into awareness. This was not Rachel. She already tasted the last of her, and there was no use thinking about the taste of her lips, or the delicious pain that comes with her nails digging into her back. So Quinn gripped Juliana’s soft hip, fingered her clit between index and middle fingers, and pushed her cock inside her.

It took only a few thrusts until Quinn’s client was already shaking and trembling. Still, Quinn continued pounding her into the desk, face buried against her sweet-smelling neck. But it wasn’t the _right_ kind of sweet. It was ridden with remorse, the black plague spreading through Quinn’s body.

As her cum was drained out of Quinn, the shame refused to dissipate within her.

Quinn cleaned herself up, received a kiss on the cheek, and was out of the office in less than half an hour. She travelled on the subway, unable to rid herself of the stickiness that coated her entire body. Guilt was one of those things that could be translated into the physical realm and it was devouring Quinn from the inside out. She needed to get home. She needed to shower.

There was nothing in the mail but junk, but at least there was half a bottle of Glenlivet, fresh bread and tomatoes in her apartment as Quinn rode the elevator. That was what she needed. Food, hard liquor, and a hot bath.

While she was in the bath, Quinn thought about Taylor’s proposition. To be a poetry editor was a career she didn’t imagine, even when she was the editor for her college’s literary magazine. If she took him up on his offer, it would mean long hours, and virtually no pay. Money was no issue, since Quinn saved up enough to last her a couple of years.

She downed the rest of the bronze liquid in the bottle and sighed. There would be a possibility of lawsuits from clients and refunds. Quinn stepped out of the tub, wrapped herself in a towel, and went into her office. She pulled up the contracts she had. Quinn only had until the end of January as the latest, as the rest of her contracts would have ended by now.

Well, save for Rachel’s.

Rubbing her cheek, Quinn stared at the document before her. She needed to think about this. This was her future, her career, the main source of her money. Why should she give it all up anyway?

Quinn slumped onto her computer chair and groaned. She remembered clearly the guilt and shame that blossomed inside her stomach when she fucked someone with whom she was not in love with. She felt disgusting. She hated herself.

But would poetry solve her problems? Probably not.

But it was worth the try.

Quinn opened up a blank document and drafted an email to be sent to her clients’, save for one: Rachel. After all, she was not allowed to make contact. A few more hours of alternating between watching Netflix and revising the email, this was what Quinn came up with:

_To my dearest clients,_

_This has been my business for the past six years and I am being honest when I say that it was the most enlightening years of my life. However, I have matured, my mind has developed into that of a more learned and more experienced one. Times have changed, and so must I._

_I’m retiring from being your lover._

_The reasons are personal, but I will allow you the insight behind my rationale. After all, you have seen me, naked and bare before you. What’s a little truth between lovers?_

_I have fallen in love, and it is not a joke. It is ridiculous, I admit, that I cannot fuck many and love one. But this is how I view love: limitless yet at the same time, only capable to focus on one person, and one only. I cannot offer up my body for the pleasures of many, and expect the one that I love to see me as hers and hers alone._

_And that is what I want to be. Hers. She has yet to know this._

_I hope you understand._

_A fragment of me is still yours,_

_Quinn Fabray._

After rereading the email a few more times, Quinn took a deep breath and sent it to her mailing list, save for one and one only.

That night, Quinn fell asleep as easily as one does when one is drunk and in love.

**_today’s proverb:_ ** _In a perfect world, you could fuck people without giving them a piece of your heart. And every glittering kiss and every touch of flesh is another shard of heart you’ll never see again. **Neil Gaiman**_


	9. the thoughts are all yours

Rachel always believed that fame was one of those things that she will never tire of, no matter how many paparazzo she fights, nor how busy her life becomes. Fame, applause... She lived for those things like Tinkerbell, and she wanted nothing more than to live the Broadway dream by breathing in the cries of the crowd at her job well done.

She stares at the ceiling of her empty apartment. In her arm chair, a tumbler of chai tea in her hand, no artificial means could seem to warm her. Despite being dressed in her warmest knit sweater, Rachel still shivered. She rubbed her hands along her arms, but it did nothing, so she wrapped herself in a blanket.

The heat was broken.

One letter masked what is truly wrecked. One letter made all the difference.

Each time she allowed herself the downtime to think, Rachel’s imagination often wandered to Quinn. She wanted to know how many women she had touched in a day. How many cried out her name as they came. But in all honesty, thinking about it only enabled annoyance and a rage she had no idea how to control.

Rachel didn’t want to think about Quinn being with anyone else but her.

In frustration, Rachel got up and shrugged on her winter coat. After sending Brittany a quick text, they agreed to meet up in their favourite diner. A quick bus ride later, Rachel sat on a booth and played Candy Crush on her phone while she waited.

“Hey, what’s wrong? That was a pretty urgent-sounding text.” Brittany asked, pink-cheeked and breathless as she slid in the booth in front of Rachel. “And I hope you’re ready to face Santana’s wrath.” She tucked her phone back in her purse and locked her fingers on the table.

“I just needed to get out of the house. All this idle time is not good for me. Ever since we finished filming the movie, I have too much free time on my hands.” Rachel sucked in a sharp breath to slow down the flood of words she wanted to speak. “I’ll give Santana a gift basket or something to make up for this.”

“I get that.” Brittany nodded sagely, patting Rachel’s hand before ordering coffee for herself. “But in two weeks you’d be wishing you appreciated that alone time more.”

Rachel nodded. “I know.” She nibbled the inside of her bottom lip. “How’s Quinn?”

It was the first time in weeks that Rachel spoke her name out loud, and it was easier than she thought, like an incantation she memorized long ago. The sound of Quinn’s name in her own voice still had the same effect—pleasant with the aftertaste of missing her. She watched Brittany’s features as she took her time adding cream and sugar to her cup.

“She’s fine, why do you ask?”

Rachel shrugged. “I was just curious, that’s all.”

Brittany squeezed Rachel’s hand in hers. “Rae, in another life, I have no doubts that you and Quinn would be good for each other. But in this world, I don’t think it’s smart to entertain the idea of being in a relationship with Quinn.”

“Did she tell you how she feels about me?” Rachel demanded, hands clenched into fists. It was hard to hear, but she had to, if only for the peace of her mind.

“She did,” Brittany’s voice dropped into a low volume that forced Rachel to lean in closer in order to hear. “But it’s not my position to interfere between you two. Just know that Quinn’s feelings for you are real.” Hearing this, Rachel sat back, wide-eyed and shocked. Brittany smiled. “I’ve never seen anything affect Quinn the way you do, Rachel.”

She sipped her coffee, filled with delight at the taste and the satisfying news she just received. She could see any other course of action but to say. “Brittany, I need to see Quinn. And soon.”

“I can’t just do that.” Brittany argued. “That’s not an information that is mine to give, and you agreed not to see her again.”

“I can change my mind whenever I want.” Rachel huffed. “The things I say are not set in stone. And I realize now that it’s not that easy to keep me away from someone like Quinn. Someone who makes me feel amazing in more ways than one.” Rachel closed her eyes, memories of Quinn’s effect on her thundering through her like a shotgun to her chest. “With Quinn it’s not just happy or sad or pleasure or pain. It’s always both. Something complex and hard to name.” Rachel raised her eyes to Brittany’s and saw her baby blue eyes, stark and bright and sympathetic. “Brittany, _please_.”

“Oh god, alright already! You should stop playing on my weakness for happy endings, Rachel. It’s not fair.” Brittany huffed as she scribbled down Quinn’s address on a napkin. She slid it across the table and Rachel immediately snatched it up.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Rachel lunged over the table and hugged Brittany, her elbow almost tipping the ketchup bottle if it weren’t for Brittany’s lightning fast reflexes. “You’re the best, Brittany.”

She chuckled and patted Rachel on the back. “I know.”

* * *

Despite Rachel’s enthusiasm upon receiving Quinn’s home address, she was unable to muster up the courage to ride the train to visit her. It took her three days of staring at the piece of crumpled paper, debating and arguing with herself as she paced around her home on whether she should pay Quinn a visit or not.

She understood then that before going to see Quinn, first she must have a conversation with certain people. Like Steven and Elle, for example.

The conversation with Steven was easier than singing notes in their perfect pitch. He continued to support Rachel and her romantic endeavours, no matter how small. And when Rachel told him that she made up her mind and that she was so ready to see Quinn again, he was nothing but smiles and hugs.

“I’m so proud and happy for you,” Steven said after squeezing the air out of Rachel. “And I want you to go for it. Let’s deal with any dumb scandal—if they even come—later. Besides,” he grinned and rubbed the back of his neck. “I kinda just met this girl and we hit it off, so. This is good news to me. I’m still really happy for you, Rach!”

The last person on her list was Elle. Rachel bucked up and headed to her office on a particularly warm mid-morning. She unwrapped her scarf from around her neck, regretting missing her train because of her desire to be prepared. The elevator doors hissed open, and Rachel rode it up to the highest floor. The marble floors clicked beneath her heels as Rachel approached Elle’s secretary who nodded to her in acknowledgement.

Rachel was allowed in Elle’s office within the minute, which was surprising since she was a very busy woman. She sat down on the leather couch and eyed the woman who eyed her back. “It’s nice to see you, Rachel.” Elle began. “How’s Steven?”

“Steven’s fine.” Rachel said. “I’m here to simply tell you something, and I don’t care what you think or say.”

Her thin eyebrow raised, Elle tapped her lacquered nails against her desk. “But by coming here, you _obviously_ need me to hear what you have to say. You made an appointment and everything. How interesting.”

Rachel clenched her fist, urging herself to not lose control. “I’m going to see Quinn again,” she said without any preamble. She was done toeing the lines of what was expected of her and what she wanted to do. She waited long enough. “I missed her. I know she feels something for me, and I want to have her in my life.”

Elle sighed, her fingers massaging her temples. “As you said, you don’t care what I say or think. You don’t care that I know more than you. The fact of Quinn’s career alone is enough to ruin you, Rachel. Do you understand me? News of what she is will leak—jealous ex-girlfriends, her clients… Did you think this through?”

As much as she loathed to admit, no. Rachel didn’t think this through, and she said so. “But,” she insisted. “This isn’t something I want to think about. I don’t have to be rational over _love_.”

“So you love her?” Elle asked in disbelief. “You have sex with her and what? That’s love to you?”

“I admit that we got the order wrong,” Rachel gritted. Elle was hitting all the sore spots, but she refused to back down; refused to change her mind regarding this. “We had sex first, and we have yet to get to know each other. But I think that I deserve to know what it would be like to be with Quinn. She is a risk I’m willing to take.”

Elle said nothing for a few minutes. “Alright, fine. I won’t interfere. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Relief flooded Rachel, despite her earlier claims. In the end, she needed that approval. She needed to know that she was free to pursue Quinn without interference. “Thank you so much.”

* * *

It was time.

Rachel stepped up into the light of the New York’s surface to pay Quinn a visit. Brittany, being the majestic help that she was, made sure to text Quinn, asking if she was home. Rachel sucked in a wintry cold breath and walked into Quinn’s apartment building. The doorman allowed her in, much to Rachel’s confusion. Nevertheless, she went up to the sixth floor and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” she heard someone say from within. Obeying, Rachel turned the knob and stepped in Quinn’s home. A simply furnished space with oaky tones surrounded by neutral colours, Quinn’s apartment was bright and smelled faintly of old leather. Quinn was standing by her desk, leafing through her mail. “Rachel.”

She whispered Rachel’s name almost reverently, but Rachel didn’t want to get her hopes up just yet. Her throat bobbed, and it all felt surreal that after weeks and months reimagining Quinn’s features, her presence alone knocked the air out of Rachel’s lungs. “Quinn.”

“Brittany told me you were coming.” Quinn smiled. Everything about her looked so easy, from her posture to the way she motioned to the couch. Rachel sank on it, the fabric rich with Quinn’s ever-present scent. “Three days ago. But today is a good day as any. Do you want coffee or tea?”

“Neither, thanks. I just had some.” Rachel smiled. Now that she was here, she had no idea how to go about telling Quinn that she wanted to be with her. There seemed no easy way to say it.

“What are you doing here, really? Brittany didn’t tell me a reason. She just mentioned that you might pay me a visit.” Quinn leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. “We’re not supposed to see each other, remember?”

“Yes, I know.” Rachel sighed. “But I don’t care about any of that anymore. I’m done with the film. They can’t fire me anymore without trashing the entire thing. There might be a scandal, but… I really don’t care.”

Quinn stared at her, hazel eyes like love in starlight. Rachel refused to lose herself in them before she said what she wanted to say. “I’m here because I miss you. Brittany told me that your feelings are realer than anything she has ever seen, and…” Rachel swallowed hard. “Quinn, I need to tell you this. You make me feel many things—things that I never thought possible or real. I’ve always been the good girl in life and love that being with you is so exhilarating and new.”

“So you’re saying that I’m just one of those experiences you have, like smoking pot or mixing your hard liquor or shoplifting a pair of socks?” Quinn asked, a distinct tightness in her voice. She smiled, like a guitar string pulled taut. “I thought I could be more than that.”

“No! That’s not what I meant at all!”

Rising from her seat to pace the length of her apartment, Quinn ran her fingers through her hair as if to comfort herself, when Rachel wanted nothing more than to be the one caressing, the one comforting. “I understand, I think. After all, people like me are here for cheap thrills. You, Rachel, deserve more than what I can offer. We both know it.” She stopped in front of Rachel, while she looked at her, mouth slightly agape at what she was hearing. “You’re afraid that with my job, something like this would happen again. That I would find someone like I found you, right?”

Rachel shot up and gripped Quinn’s palm. Her hand was clammy and trembling slightly, but she didn’t pull back from Rachel’s steady, warm hand. She pulled her close until their noses were touching and everything in Rachel’s vision was blurry save for Quinn. “No, Quinn. That’s not true. I don’t know if I love you, but I _know_ that I can.”

The blonde licked her lips as they grazed Rachel’s lightly. She stepped back and smoothed her shirt out. “I quit my job.” Quinn murmured. “Not only because I don’t want you to feel like I would ever cheat on you at a drop of a hat, but because I’m tired. Not of sex, but of the lack of stability in my life.” Reaching out, she traced the line of Rachel’s jaw for a brief second. “I’m not really cut out for a life of just sex. I want to try a life of something more than that. And I want you to show me that life.”

Rachel felt at a loss. She didn’t know whether to lunge for Quinn’s lips and taste her after weeks of abstinence, or to hold her hand. “Does that mean you… want to be with me?”

The heater cut on, and for a minute its whirring was all Rachel could hear. But when Quinn’s lips parted as she spoke, Rachel heard nothing else. “I do.” She whispered. “But I want you to make sure that you want to be with me as much as I do.”

“But I’m here, aren’t I? I’m here, and I want you.” Rachel balled her fists. “What more could you want?”

Quinn cupped Rachel’s fists and pried them open, finger by finger, before kissing her upturned palm. “I want you, for sure. But I need you to know me. Not just how I can make you feel.” She smiled and lifted Rachel’s arms to rest against her shoulders and curl around her neck. She rested her palms on the swell of Rachel’s hips, causing her to shiver at Quinn’s proximity. “And I have an idea. Think of it as our first date.”

If Rachel had to describe the happiness that swelled within her from Quinn’s words, she would describe it in a kiss. For her, words weren’t enough, so she tightened her hold on Quinn and devoured her mouth. Rachel felt Quinn’s smile, and for that moment she forgot how to breathe. “A date sounds great, Quinn.”

 

 ** _today’s proverb:_** _“Without you my air tastes_  
like nothing. For you  
I hold my breath.” **Invitation, Mary Szybist.**


	10. not one for love

In Quinn’s left hand is her notebook clutched tightly, as if she was afraid to lose it. In her right was Rachel’s hand, her grip firm but loose enough for Rachel to be able to release her hold whenever she wished. When she would let go of Quinn, it was only to tuck a lock of her blonde hair back, or to play with her slender fingers.

It was poetry night, and Quinn was nervous. Not of the stage—she’d been on it far too many times to count. She was over her stage fright years and years ago. Not of the crowds—half of them were her friends and acquaintances. Brittany and Santana were probably making out in one of the many dark corners of the bar. Quinn was nervous because she wrote a poem for a girl, and she was as real as the pounding of her heart against her ribcage. That girl was Rachel, and Quinn was performing a poem for her tonight.

“You ready?” Taylor approached her with a tankard filled with the local brew. “They’re done setting up out back.”

“Ready for what?” Rachel asked, eyes bright and staring at Quinn. She kept it a secret from Rachel that this was their date night—the night that would hopefully kick off their relationship into the stars.

Quinn shook her head and kissed her nose. “You’ll see. Brittany and Santana are around somewhere. Just relax, Rachel.” She grinned and smoothed out her blazer before following Taylor, casting a wink towards Rachel as she disappeared in the crowd.

“That her? The woman you mentioned?” Taylor asked as they entered backstage. Quinn greeted a few of her friends and nodded to Taylor. “

“I thought about your offer.” Quinn said as she rolled her shoulders, tension dissipating in her body with each passing second. “And I want the position, if you haven’t given it out already.”

Taylor chuckled. “I knew you’d say yes somehow, Quinn. Of course it’s all yours.”

“Oh, good.” Quinn grinned. “I quit my day job for this even though I can probably do both, you know? But I have money saved up, and not all of my clients are asking for refunds. None of them are suing me either, so that’s a relief.” She peeked through the curtains and caught a sight of Rachel who was chatting with Brittany. The announcer stepped center stage and began to entertain the patrons of the bar.

“Everyone missed you, Quinn.” Taylor said, hand clapping against her back. “You’ll be great.”

Quinn smiled. “I hope so. But more than that, I hope I’ll be great for Rachel.”

The host declared her name and Quinn stepped through the curtains, the black fabric flourishing around her. She smiled through the bright lights and the familiar faces of the crowd. Catching Rachel’s eyes, Quinn winked and gripped the microphone stand. “Hello, everyone. To those who are not familiar with this scene, I’ve been MIA for the past year or so.” Quinn chuckled.

“You could say I’ve been busy. I haven’t been writing.” The crowd booed playfully and Quinn laughed. “I know, I know. But you see, the first time I wrote a poem about a girl whose eyes are comparable to New York City’s lights was last night when the moon hung low,” Quinn held up her hand, cupping it as if she was grasping the moon in her palm. “Like false hope amidst these dying, fading stars burning bright and blinding me. I haven’t touched a pen to write a poem in months and I try to think that this would make me see; that maybe this isn’t all there is to me.”

The pub was silent now, eyes trained on Quinn. She relished it. She savoured their awed stares, but most of all, she was drawn to Rachel’s eyes. “The last time I wrote a poem was two hundred and fifty seven days ago but it was crap. It was a poem about how my lungs are just lungs, and my stomach is just a stomach.” She patted her abdomen. “It’s unromantic and I burned the words in my mind until all is left is charcoal and the alphabet crumbling in my fingertips.”

“But then, like most things, it all boils down to a girl.” Quinn smiled and looked at Rachel, whose eyes were brighter than New York City’s lights with the way she looked at her. Quinn gripped the microphone stand tighter until her knuckles turned pale. “A girl who reminds me of rich dark chocolate melting on my tongue. A girl who writes on my body with her mouth and her nails and god _damn_ I’ve never wanted to be paper before but with her… With her it’s like I am on my way to spitting out a novel worth of words on how she makes me feel.” Quinn sucked in a breath and releases it. She pounded her fist against her chest. “She makes me think that maybe, my lungs are meant to do more than just breathe, that my heart… My heart is more than just a vessel for pumping blood.”

Quinn paused for a brief second and allowed the silence to usher her poem into a rapid spitfire of words. “She has given me novels upon my body; paper cuts and bruises that could tell the world of how much it hurts to long for her, but I won't stop because it feels too damn _good_.” Quinn held her arms out, beckoning the intensity of what she feels for Rachel into a flurry of her speech. “That if I stop, it would hurt more, and I don't want that. I don't want it to hurt. Even though it feels like the world is exploding when she's here, but it hurts more when she's gone, like implosions. And emptiness.”

Her voice dipped in a low, barely audible murmur. “And I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“I used to think that I’m not one for love, and that’s where I’m wrong.” Quinn locked eyes with Rachel, and it was just the two of them right then. Quinn’s lips curled into a smile, and she kept her voice low and even. “She didn’t make me want to be better, but she inspired me to just be me.”

“And you know what?” Quinn’s voice rose, as if from the ashes of who she was in the past into who she knew she was now. “She _knows_ and she’s still here. She knows my words are hers, the same way I am in her possession, like a ten dollar bill in her winter coat. She knows that I would bend over and fall off a cliff for her. She knows that I’m in love with her, from this earth to the one a million billion trillion light years away from here.” Quinn clenched her fists and held it to her chest. “She knows and she’s still here with me.”

She looked at the crowd, wide-eyed with tears and breathless wonder. Quinn grinned at them. “I can see it in your eyes that you want to know more about her, which is all well and good because I can talk about her all night.” They cheer, like a thunderstorm waiting to happen. “Okay, okay. Let me put it like this.” Quinn cleared her throat.

“From this point on, every poem I will ever write will be about her.” Quinn released the microphone stand. “Thank you.”

The crowd clapped, cheered, and stood up in their applause. Quinn dipped her head and stepped down the stage to make her way to the only one who truly mattered.

Rachel was sniffling and wiping her eyes by the time Quinn made it to her. “Was I good?” She asked, pulling her close to her body. “Did I make you cry? I didn’t mean to, Rae.”

She shook her head and held Quinn. “You were amazing, and I didn’t expect that on our first date.”

Quinn grinned and nuzzled her cheek. “Do you want to stay and watch the rest of the poets?”

Rachel bit her lip. “Will it be rude to say I just want you to myself? I just want to go back to your place, drink wine, and fall asleep in your arms.”

Taking Rachel’s hand, Quinn locked their fingers together and led her out of the pub. They went back to their apartment, shivering from the cold but warmth blossoming in their chest. There would be no need for central heating when Quinn and Rachel are together like this.

And as always, things didn’t go according to plan. They stumbled in Quinn’s home, drunk with laughter and giggling with delight. Quinn’s hands were firm on Rachel’s hips as she mouthed at her neck, greedy yet gentle, leaving markings of her teeth as they staggered into Quinn’s bedroom. They collapsed on the neat bed, ready to mess it up.

Rachel straddled Quinn’s lap and button by button, unclasped it to relish the smoothness of her lover’s skin, the ridges of her collarbones, and her nipples stiff from arousal. She bent down, took one pink bead in her mouth, her core pressing deep against Quinn’s growing erection. “God, Rae…”

She caught the other nipple and sucked on it, but Quinn was not content. She rolled Rachel onto her back, legs still wrapped around her waist. “Gorgeous love of mine,” Quinn murmured, lifting Rachel’s dress off. “I’ve missed you like this.” She nipped Rachel’s bottom lip as she hooked her fingers on the tiny fabric of her panties. Quinn slipped them off and spread Rachel’s legs, eyes devouring her soaking pussy, impatient to get her tongue on her.

Rachel stripped Quinn off her remaining clothes and naked, they rolled around in bed, giggling and sighing as their heated skin kept each other warm. Rachel grasped Quinn’s rigid cock and stroked it as they kissed, lips tugging on lips, and tongues teasing against the sharpness of teeth. Quinn grunted in Rachel’s mouth, her fingers slipping against the plump lips of Rachel’s soaking core.

“Quinn, _please_.” Rachel’s voice was needy, and her walls clenched around Quinn’s deft fingers as they pressed against her insides. “We have all night for teasing. For now, I just want you.” She gripped the back of Quinn’s head, handfuls of blonde hair in her grasp. “Inside me. Deep, hard, and slow.”

Quinn’s throat bobbed and she used her arm as Rachel’s pillow. They lay on their side, Rachel’s leg over Quinn’s hip. She dragged her cock against Rachel’s folds, and as soon as their lips touched, Quinn pushed in, the head of her shaft slipping inside Rachel’s drenched pussy. Both groaned, their arms tightening around each other. The bed sheets rustled, and Rachel panted against Quinn’s cheek as she pushed in. “Like that, Rae?”

Nodding, Rachel dug her heel against Quinn’s lower back. Together they writhed and moved, pushing and pulling at each other. Quinn’s eyes never left Rachel’s and she watched the flares that ignited in her with every deep thrust of her cock.

And when they come, it was with groans as deep as the earth itself. Pleasure wrecked their bodies, Quinn’s hips stuttering in their rhythm as she unloaded in Rachel. Her pussy milked Quinn dry, their mixed fluids flooding out of her as Quinn continued to hump into her. She didn’t want to move out past an inch, and Rachel could feel her filling her up. With love, all things were better.

They fell limp, breathless, and hyperaware of the way Quinn’s lungs heaved, and the way Rachel panted. They smiled, noses brushing together. “I love you,” Rachel whispered. “And you’re definitely one for love.”

_**today’s proverb:** This is what love does: It makes you want to rewrite the world. [...] And when it's just the two of you, alone in a room, you can pretend that this is how it is, this is how it will be. **David Levithan.**_

**_&  _ **

_I have hated the words and I have loved them. And I hope I have made them right. **Markus Zusak.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I can be a bad writer and I'm not terrific with plot and pacing but I love words too much to stop writing. Thank you for overlooking my faults (sometimes), for being patient with me, and for reading this story of Rachel and Quinn in this different world. Thank you.


End file.
